


Iris

by pinesboi



Series: No Glory in the West [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: A hand-wavy approach to historical accuracy, American Civil War, Arranged Marriage, Blacksmith!Joe, Blink and you'll miss it Book of Nile, Brief Sexual Content, Brief Violence, Cowboy!Nicky, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Horsegirl Nicky (affectionate), Horses, Joe Makes Bad ChoicesTM, Love at First Sight, M/M, Medical Peril, Slow Burn, Wild West AU, Yearning, cheating (kinda?), look these two bastards are so gay and yearn so hard, nicky let yourself have nice things challenge, pov switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:33:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 62,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29370864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinesboi/pseuds/pinesboi
Summary: No one ventures west unless they're either running from something, or looking for something they can't find elsewhere. When Yusuf leaves New York to put down roots for himself in the Idaho Territory, he's not sure if he's trying to escape or seeking out his future. What he finds will either grant him freedom, or it will drive him back east for good.----------------------Wild West/ Cowboy AU
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: No Glory in the West [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157465
Comments: 20
Kudos: 114
Collections: The Old Guard Big Bang





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Art for this fic was done by the amazing and absolutely WONDERFUL [ Lestey ](https://thewolvesrunwild.tumblr.com/). PLEASE go and give him all of my love, because he absolutely deserves it for cheering me on and contributing his beautiful beautiful art.  
> I'd also like to shout out the lovely Keer, who was my beta for this fic and such a trooper fixing my mess. You can find her on [ tumblr ](https://punnymoi.tumblr.com/).  
> And, thank you to the whole TOG discord for being SUCH amazing cheerleaders. I really appreciate your excitement, and i love all of yall so so much. Alright I'll stop talking now.
> 
> (also, check out the [ spotify playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6zHmwyV47FfTm57pfgrjPP?si=X-VkoysnQta6IUVnCMvPdA) that i made for this fic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has none of the period-typical racism and homophobia. The American Civil War is mentioned, but the circumstances surrounding it are left intentionally vague. Obviously, this fic has... Questionable historical accuracy. Read as you like, or if it's not your thing you can click away.

_**August, 1870** _

Yusuf has never known exhaustion like this before. Yes, there had been times when it seemed his bones had turned to flour and he felt he might crumble if he took another step, but it was nothing like this. He hadn’t anticipated the toll walking for a month straight might take on him, and he can feel it in every corner of his body. That, paired with the layer of grime he’s managed to accumulate from the sweat and the dust, has left his mouth with a bitter taste over the last week. Yusuf was never without a smile, he made sure of that, but in the final stretch of the expedition he had found it stretched a little thinner. It did not help that despite how much he was desperately trying to convince himself he was walking towards something- a life for himself- it kept feeling more and more that he was running away.

Despite it all, Yusuf’s face breaks into a grin so wide it hurts his face and immediately hops down from his cart, taking off in a mad dash when he sees his sister. They collide in a tangle of arms, Yusuf sweeping her off the ground and spinning the two of them around with a happy growl. He pulls away feeling like he’s found water in the desert.

“Miriam.”

Her face is a mirror to his own in many ways, but the most prominent is their mother’s smile. It’s reflected on them both when she steps back to hold him at arm’s length. “Yusuf,” She laughs incredulously. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

She has certainly aged in their time apart, wrinkles beginning to form on her forehead and at the corners of his eyes- much like his own. There’s a change in the way she holds herself, too. Last he’d seen her she’d been a new bride, setting on the path out west with a baby under her arm and a great deal of trepidation. Now she positively glows with a sense of self-assuredness that Yusuf hadn’t expected to see from his younger sister. It makes his heart soar and ache in equal parts to see such a change in her.

“Neither can I. I thought for certain I’d be stuck travelling the plains for eternity.” He cocks his head and looks at her, sees the new lines of laughter and worry that mark her face. Yusuf pokes at the lines lightly, like he might have done when they were younger. “When did you get so old? Here I was thinking I was coming back to my baby sister, but instead I find an old woman in her place.”

Miriam smacks his chest and gives him a warning look. “Careful, Yusuf. I can ruin your business before you’ve even started.”

It takes a moment for Yusuf to remind himself of what business she was talking about. In truth, he’s put it out of his mind during the long trek out west, choosing to instead remain focused on getting through without falling ill or breaking a bone. Now that he’s made it out to Three Forks, he’ll probably have to pay that some thought. He sighs and looks back at his rickety cart, pulled by the mule he’d refused to name out of pure spite. Bits of raw materials lay covered up, as well as a set of blacksmithing tools.

“That may not be so bad.”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t start with that, you just got here.” She links her arm through his and begins to walk him back to the cart. “Come on, I’ll show you a spot you can park that thing behind the store.”

*

The first time Yusuf sets foot in his sister’s store, he nearly stumbles back at the sight of it. He’d never doubted Miriam’s ability to make her own success no matter where she went- she’d gotten their father’s good business sense- but to experience the fruits of her labor in person is truly something else.

He could have sworn he’d been taken back to the markets in Tunis. The inside of the store smells like all of the rich spices of home, of cardamom and cinnamon and turmeric, and the little parchment cards identifying each item and marking their prices are all displayed in neat rows. There are small bolts of fabric as well, in colors that he hadn’t seen since he left New York. Near the front counter, Yusuf can spot rows of small candies wrapped in wax paper. He doesn’t even need to get closer to know what they are.

“Oh, _Miriam_ ” Yusuf groans, dropping his bags to the ground and beelining it to the display. His fingers hover over them, plucking one from the crowd and inspecting it like a piece of gold. “Are these Mama’s ginger candies?”

She sets her hands on her hips, watching him with an amused grin. “Well, technically they’re ‘ _Safiya’s Ginger Delights’-_ but yes, they’re the ones Mama makes.”

With the same light fingers he had as a child snatching it from his mother’s basket, Yusuf steals one and pops it into his mouth. It carries the same tang, the light dusting of flour on the outside to keep it from sticking giving way to the soft candy beneath. It melts in his mouth with the consistency of liquid gold with all of the wonderful memories of Yusuf making himself sick on them when he was young. And, with the same dangerous glare as their mother, Miriam smacks him on the shoulder for it.

“I hope you intend to pay for that.” Miriam warns. “Or I’ll have Sheriff Copley take you in for theft.”

“Sheriff? I didn’t realize you had that kind of law out here already.”

She waves her hand vaguely. “We don’t, not really. He keeps the peace around here, and everyone calls him the Sheriff, but it’s not a government position. He looks out for everyone here as best he can.” She slaps his hand as Yusuf inches for another candy. “It’s just him though. Sometimes Booker gives him a hand if there’s a problem at the saloon.”

Yusuf scrunches his face. “What kind of a name is Booker?”

“It’s a nickname,” Miriam chuckles, beginning to usher him towards the back of the store towards a staircase. “Though he can explain it to you himself. He’s offered to give you a tour around town tomorrow if you’d like.”

He glances around, suddenly realizing that he’s being led upstairs. “I’d certainly be happy to take up this mysterious parchment man up on his offer, but-“ He pauses halfway through a step, hands raised when she prods him in the back. “Where are we going?”

Yusuf remembers a great deal about his sister: her laugh, her wits, the many ways she seemed to be able to outsmart not only him and their other siblings, but also their parents. However, nothing is more prominent in his mind than that clever smile, the one she always used to use when she was up to something. He’s immediately wary of it, but can’t help returning a grin of his own.

“You’ll see. Now up, come on. You’re as bad as that mule outside.”

He relents, shaking his head, and takes the remainder of the stairs up to the second level of the store. Yusuf’s met with a comfortable living area with a large Persian rug unfurled in the center, dyed a dark crimson with swirling leaves and vines marking the border. The room looks nicely lived in, the chairs worn and loved, and the wood floors scuffed. He can see a small kitchen range and furnace off to the side, with a large window that looks out over the street. The smells from the shop linger here too, though dancing with them is the subtle vanilla that he never quite knew how, but always seemed to waver around Miriam like a spirit.

His arrival is not met without proper fanfare. The minute he and Miriam have made it all the way up the stairs, he can hear the thundering of small feet coming from down the hallway. Yusuf only has time to exchange a quick sideways look at Miriam before he’s being attacked by a small, vicious creature and is almost knocked back into the wall. He catches a flash of green ribbon and the slightest glimpse of an underskirt before he’s scrambling to stay on his feet.

Then, the little creature speaks. “Khaal Yusuf!”

Yusuf glances down to see a girl, much bigger than the little infant he had known back in New York, with a full head of inky black curls and twinkling brown eyes- the trademark of the al-Kaysani line, his father used to say (and a clear indication of future mischief, according to his mother). His heart swells to see her so large, so grown up. He hugs her back, picking her up with a playful yelp. She squeals happily, giggling like a madwoman.

“And who is this little wildcat?” He says, holding her tightly in his arms so that she’s up to his eye level. “Surely this can’t be that sweet Noor you keep raving about, Miriam? She’s practically got claws!” Yusuf picks up one of her fingers and wags it around in the air to prove a point, met with another round of giggles.

Noor holds his face softly, eyes wide and face lit up in the nicest of smiles. “I’m not a wildcat! I’m Noor, see!” She flips up part of the hem of her dress, showing where her name is embroidered in delicate green thread.

He pulls an exaggeratedly disapproving face. “No, my Noor was only little. You’re _much_ too big to be her.”

She then proceeds to go on an impassioned rant about how her father always told her she was too tall for her age, how he was sure she’d eventually grow bigger than the pine trees on the mountain. All the while, Yusuf gazes at her with a love he wasn’t aware had been lingering inside of him, something that had laid dormant since Miriam had left the city. Briefly, he thinks about the possibility of his own children, and how much like Noor his own daughter might look with a kind of dark fascination. He tucks those thoughts aside though, unwilling to let New York’s melancholy be with him here. Yusuf was going to enjoy this reunion.

When Noor has finally settled a bit from his arrival, asking very politely to be set down so she can run back to their room to grab her doll, he glances over at Miriam.

She sighs happily. “She’s half wild, I’m telling you. It must be Edward’s side of the family.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” He says, wrapping his arms around his sister, enjoying the feeling of _home_ that settles in for the first time in five years. “She is exactly like you were at that age. Soon enough she’ll be terrorizing you and Edward with new items to sell in the shop. What was it you tried to sell? Little stones with charcoal eyes, right?”

Miriam laughs. When he looks back over at her again, he can see the hazy look in her eyes that indicates tears threatening to spill over. He can feel them on himself as well, brought on by a joy he hadn’t expected.

“Welcome home _,_ Yusuf.”

*

They eat dinner together, with Noor chronicling her adventures at school between mouthfuls of stew. Edward returns just before they sit at the table, looking pleasantly exhausted. Apparently he’d been working out supply lines for a few people on the wagon train headed out to the Oregon Territory. Still, he beams when he spots Yusuf and shakes his hand heartily.

Miriam’s marriage to Edward had been an arranged one, though neither had voiced much issue with it. Their fathers had been business partners for years, and they had grown up around each other in London and had shown a liking. It simply made sense. Edward had to go off to America to look at new prospects not long after their engagement had been made official, but when it came time for them to marry, Miriam and Yusuf had made their way across the ocean to meet him. Not long after had come baby Noor, and the news that Edward had bought land out west for a shop. Then off they had gone, forging a life for themselves and leaving Yusuf in New York to learn blacksmithing from his uncle and spend his days reading more poetry than he thought his mind could ever contain.

They still seemed in love, which soothed his soul. He had worried for his sister, and although her letters had given no indication she was unhappy with her life and her new husband- aside from the odd squabble here and there. Miriam had a habit of dealing with those kinds of things in a private, internal fashion. It was natural, he thought, that as her older brother he should be concerned for her happiness and well-being. He hadn’t even realized the tension he’d been holding over that idea until he went to bed that night, noticing that his shoulders had lost the knot that had been bothering him for years now. Miriam has the young lady they hire to help with Noor and assist at the shop- who introduces herself quite shyly as Ilya- draw up some water for him to bathe, which he does nearly with tears in his eyes as he wipes away a month’s worth of grime and road travel. Yusuf sleeps soundly in the small spare room that night, comforted by the drifting sound of Miriam singing to Noor across the hall in Arabic.

When he wakes the next morning, it is to a bit of confusion as to why it is not cold and why the ground is so soft- the lingering remains of his month-long walk from New York continuing to cloud his mind. The relief he feels when he discovers he does not have to walk for miles on end feels good enough to give him a head rush.

Noor has already been sent to school for the day and Miriam has gone downstairs to open the store, meaning that the living quarters upstairs are blessedly quiet. Yusuf wakes slowly, luxuriously, basking in the feeling of being both clean and well-rested.

Today is a beginning, he tells himself. The beginning of what he hopes to be a good, prosperous life.

He’s slept through fajr- which considering the circumstances, he hopes God forgives. He prays as soon as he wakes anyways, feeling refreshed afterwards. Miriam has left him half a bread loaf and some cheese, with an accompanying note for breakfast. It kindly reminds him that his forge is waiting for him, and the man she had mentioned before- Booker, he thinks- would be working outside the shop if he wanted to take him up on that tour. There is also a line about Yusuf always being lazy when he was younger and how age hadn’t made him any more of a morning person that spreads a smile across his face. He eats quietly before putting on the one shirt he has that’s clean and the trousers that Miriam joked needed to be beaten out like a rug to shake the dust from them.

Downstairs, he finds the store busy with customers. Three Forks isn’t a large settlement, so it’s a surprise to see so many people there at once. Miriam and Ilya are positively swamped with attending to people buying their wares, so he simply waves to her as he leaves and politely greets the people who cross his path.

It doesn’t take long for Yusuf to spot the man outside the store, on a large ladder leaning up against the side of the building. He seems to be repainting the sign out front, smiling down at the people who walk by and engaging in pleasant conversation with those who stop for it. He’s got ashen blonde hair and blue eyes with a quite an imposing figure to him, Yusuf realizes as he begins to make his way down.

Yusuf never considered himself much of a poet- an avid reader of it, yes, but never an author- still, something about him has Yusuf waxing poetic. Perhaps it’s something about his scarred hands, work-worn and tired, fingers turned out from arthritis. Or it could be those eyes. He smiles like he has to force himself to remember how, the long lines and memories of past scowls marked deep in his face. Even so, he greets Yusuf with a friendly grin and wipes his hands on his many times patched trousers so that he can shake Yusuf’s.

“I assume you’re Booker.”

“That would be me,” he says, with a decidedly French accent, though one that’s been mellowed by years in America. “You would be Miriam’s older brother Yusuf then?”

Yusuf nods, putting his hands on his hips and squinting. If there was anything he missed about London, it was the lack of sun in his eyes for ten hours a day. “Yes, although ever since I got to New York people have taken to calling me Joe. Especially on the trail.”

“Ha! Well, the Americans have a very centered view of themselves.” Booker says in a quiet laugh. “Don’t worry, I can manage Yusuf just fine. I assume you’re here to take up that offer of a tour of the town?”

Yusuf confirms this and clasps his hands behind his back, standing aside for Booker to head down the dirt-trodden street. “I would appreciate that.”

Booker proves to be a good-natured companion, making jokes as they walk. He points out the well-populated saloon and greets those who pass. “That’s the Merry Hill. The owner, Lykon, is a good man. Richer than the devil and twice as popular with the ladies, too,” he says with a good-natured chuckle. “If you’d like to hire any company for the night or lose your life savings in an hour, it’s the place to go.”

Yusuf grimaces through a smile. “Not exactly my cup of tea. I don’t drink or gamble.”

 _And I highly doubt the kind of company they offer is the kind I would enjoy_ , Yusuf thinks.

He lets himself be touted around the town, introduced to various people. Booker seems to know everyone by name and has a story for every face. It’s entrancing to watch him weave his way through the people like he was born to do it. The only time he falters in his earnest camaraderie is when they come upon a stressed-looking young woman, carrying a large case and wearing an apron with a number of stains Yusuf would rather not identify. For her, Booker dips his head and then motions a salute. Her hair is worn in thick braids on top of her head, the same color as her earth-rich dark eyes that seem to categorize and evaluate him on sight.

“Yusuf, may I have the pleasure of introducing to you Miss Nile Freeman.” Booker speaks of her with an almost reverential voice. “Don’t let that baby face fool you. She’s the town physician.”

Nile lifts an eyebrow to look over the two of them, pausing on Yusuf. “You must be Miriam’s brother, then?”

He nods taken aback. “Yes. Did she tell you I was coming?”

“I’d heard we had a new blacksmith coming in. That, and you look like you could be her twin.” She glances down at a pocket watch she pulls from a hip bag, frowning. “If you two will excuse me, I have to get out to the Hummer’s. Thomas managed to break his leg again, and if I don’t get there soon his father will try to set it himself. Pardon.”

Just as quickly as she came, Nile speeds past them and down the road. Booker looks after her with a glowing sense of pride. He stares at her figure so long that Yusuf has to snap his fingers in front of his face just to regain his attention.

“I’m assuming you know Miss Freeman well?”

Booker’s head swivels back to him, face growing pink. “Well, yes- sort of. Yes.” He exhales and focuses on walking. “I help her out when I can. Don’t know a thing about medicine, but I’ve got steady hands and she seems to think that that’s good enough.”

Yusuf stops in his tracks, then, staring at Booker in wonder. “My friend, on this walk alone you have told me on five separate occasions that you work five separate jobs. Is there anything you don’t do, Monsieur Booker?”

He smiles into a point, ducking his head to avoid Yusuf’s eye. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I do a bit of everything, help out where I can. Lots of odd jobs around here that need doing, and I seem to be the only one with enough time on my hands to get them all done.”

“No specific trade, then?” Yusuf asks.

Booker frowns for a moment, still avoiding any of Yusuf’s attempts to catch his eye. He does that quite a lot, he’s noticed- considers his answers carefully when they’re about himself. Everything else is offered up so freely, aside from the things that matter. “I will be honest with you, Yusuf, because you seem like a good man, and I’d trust Miriam with my life.” He takes a long breath. “I didn’t have a trade before I came here. I wasn’t planning on settling here at all.”

When he pauses again, Yusuf kindly nods in encouragement, unwilling to interrupt.

“It was the Sheriff that brought me here, along with a bounty hunter. Had a warrant out for my arrest, some things I did when I was younger and more of an idiot. Told me I could go to jail or work off my bounty by helping the townsfolk build this place.” He splays his arms wide. “And here I am. Still doing the same thing, only I don’t go back to a cell every night.”

Yusuf shakes his head incredulously, a bit taken aback by the wave of information that’s crashed over him. “You are very honest for telling me so.”

Booker shrugs with Atlas’ shoulders. “It’s the only way to be, now. Everyone else in town knows my story, so you should as well.” His voice drops low, low enough that Yusuf might miss it if he weren’t paying attention. “You should be able to know the company you keep and choose it carefully.”

It doesn’t take a keen eye for Yusuf to know that there are years hiding behind those words, painful memories that make them sting. Booker displays his discomfort openly. He wears it like a scratchy coat, pulling at the collar of it for a breath of air. Yusuf’s intrigued, of course, and the part of him that’s always too curious for his own good begs to press further, but he pushes the thought aside. There would be time for that. For now, he just smiles, nodding like he can understand.

“You’re very considerate, Booker.”

He chuckles dryly. “If my mother could hear you say that.”

They begin walking again in relative silence, now approaching the edge of town. Yusuf takes the opportunity to glance at him out of the side of his eye. “So, Miss Nile Freeman?”

He sputters and stops, eyes going wide. Then he narrows them again, catching onto Yusuf’s game. “You’re a menace, just like your sister.”

“I think you’ll find that I’m much nicer.” Yusuf chuckles. “Though I do happen to be more dogged when the need arises.”

The Frenchman grumbles something about a family resemblance before stopping at a property just outside the main square of the town, where the shops fall away to houses and the natural scrub brush and trees crawl back in.

Booker puts his hands on his hips and stares up at the building in front of him, eyes squinting against the sun. “Well, it’s a building, at least. Spares you from having to build a new one from scratch.”

“I’m not so certain of that,” Yusuf stares, eyeing the forge with a grimace.

It’s a wreck, is what it is. Besides the worn-down state of the building behind it likely meant to be a house (though it couldn’t pass for much more than a shack), there was also the matter of the forge itself. There were spots of rotting wood and areas where pests had gnawed their way through, letting in the draft. It wouldn’t be an issue until the winter months, when the cold air would come in like a ghost seeking to possess. That kind of temperature instability never led to good tempering for the metal- or so his uncle had said. The windows are all shattered too, glass on the ground. And, as the icing on the cake, it was lacking any kind of front door.

He groans as the mental list he’s drawing up continues to grow, counting the many things that need fixing. Some of it can be put off until he’s settled in a bit and got the forge open and running. At least then he’d have a little more money to pour into the repairs. Some of it, however, would need to be done beforehand. Meaning he wasn’t going to be able to open the forge for at least another month. Yusuf shakes his head, the familiar exhaustion from the road creeping back into him.

Booker turns his head like he’s about to speak, but before he can, there’s a commotion behind them. It’s not until the shouting starts that he whips his head around to see the source of it all.

The moments begin to trickle by slowly as he takes in the scene. The street is somewhat busy- not busy like New York or London, of course, but busy enough that people have to shove to move out of the road. There’s yelling to get out of the way, and a young man in a top hat is nearly bowled over before his companion is able to grab him by the lapels and pull him to the side of the dirt street.

The cause of the panic appears in a flash and bolts past Yusuf into the square- a powerful looking stallion, galloping at full speed. It’s a gorgeous thing, with a heaving chestnut flank that covers sturdy muscle. It’s an imposing creature even from a distance; he’s never been one to be skittish around horses, but he can understand the fear in people’s eyes as they dart out of its path. It makes it all the way to where the road makes a T, stopping when it seems to realize it’s trapped in at all sides by people. The stallion begins to rear up on his hind legs, kicking forward and braying. There’s a wild, scared look in its eye, turning every direction looking for an out. A terrified creature surrounded in a place it didn’t belong.

Yusuf could sympathize.

He’s so entranced by the stallion, he almost misses another set of cries to get out of the way. The voice is enough, however, to draw his attention- mostly because it is only one voice. Somehow it rings out through the town square like a hammer against steel and cuts clear through the noise. Yusuf whips his head back down the road the stallion came from.

Approaching at the same speed with a similar terrifying conviction is another horse, a striking blonde thing that’s almost too elegant for the way it gallops into town relentlessly. If he had been afraid of the stallion, surely this creature was the stuff of legends. The kind of horse generals rode into battle, the kind that was written about in epics. It’s rider certainly helped carry the mystique.

Astride the horse is a man, staring with eyes like pure ice down at the stallion. His posture on the horse seems as natural as walking. Yusuf can recall, somewhere in one of his books, a legend about people who were half human, half horse. He can see the same sort of regality in the rider, he thinks, with his broad shoulders squared and his jaw set. There’s a scar on the left side of this man’s face, curving just below his eye and into his cheek wickedly. It should be unsettling, or frightening to see such collected resolve on a man that seems without any doubt or nervousness, but Yusuf can only describe himself as entranced.

Somehow, one detail catches his eye the most. A blood red kerchief is tied around the man’s neck, the knot laying in the dip of his throat.

When the world begins to move at the correct pace again, the rider and horse have made it to the town square. He dismounts around the ring of people surrounding the stallion, far enough back that they don’t run the risk of getting kicked, but close enough to see the spectacle. If the man at all notices the way the crowd automatically parts around him, or the way people look at him like he’s another creature to be wary of, he doesn’t let it show. He makes a powerful silhouette against the dirt road and his onlookers, all powerful lines and thick thighs.

The man approaches the stallion slowly, ducking his head almost in a bow with a hand out to soothe it. For a good moment, Yusuf’s certain the horse is going to kick the man square in the face and that he’s going to have to rush in and pull him away before he loses too much brain matter from the hooves, but the impact never comes. The horse slowly settles as the man says something to it that he can’t hear from this distance. It continues its nickering and braying, shifting unsteadily like it can’t quite decide if it’s going to bolt or not. The man gets close enough to smooth a hand down its neck, petting softly. His palms are wide, work worn. Not the sort of hands one might find relaxing, and yet before long the stallion is nearly docile. He whistles once, high and bright, and the horse he came in on follows him into the center of the square, following the hole he left in the crowd. Deftly, the man is able to grab a rope and secure it around the stallion’s neck, fashioning a lead with the knowledge of someone who has done it for years.

Without another word, only looking to his own horses, the man mounts his own ride and begins to head back in the way he came, nodding a few times to people who wave at him. When he comes up close to pass Booker and Yusuf, he lifts his head a little more and gives something that’s the ghost of a shadow of a smile to Booker. Then his eyes flick to Yusuf, and everything seems to draw blank. He stops in his tracks and tips his head to Yusuf like he’d done with the stallion, holding his gaze with firm intention.

“My apologies,” He says, voice rich with an accent Yusuf can’t place- it’s Italian, most certainly, but mixed with something else that draws his speech out slower. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

Yusuf is only aware that he’s answered after the fact. “No need, my friend. It was quite the show.”

The man opens and closes his mouth several times, nothing more than a pinched noise making its way out. His face remains impassive, expressionless aside from a slight downward tilt in his lips. It could perhaps be discomfort, but there’s so little to read aside from the minutiae in lines on his forehead and carried down from that graceful, sloping nose. His profile was striking, really- not quite handsome as handsome is generally known, but nonetheless eye-catching. Aquiline nose, curved and soft lips, a delicate brow. Before Yusuf can develop the details in his mind, trying to ascertain just exactly _why_ he can’t stop staring at him, the man nods brusquely.

“Booker.”

And that’s the only parting word he gives before spurring his horse to walk on down the street, the now-calm stallion trailing behind on its lead with only a brief snuffle. Yusuf stares after him, as many others do around the town square, with an open-mouthed gape. He turns back to Booker, who has already shifted his attention back to the forge.

“Don’t mind him,” Booker chuckles. “He’s always been a quiet type. Generally takes some warming up to get him talking.”

“Who is he?” Yusuf says, a twinge of awe in his voice as he follows Booker further into the forge. He should be looking around the building and getting his bearings, but his mind is focused on replaying the events of the square over again.

“Well, I know his name is Nicky- though I’d be willing to bet that it’s a nickname, given the accent. He came to town a few years back looking like a wild man straight out of the forest with that horse of his.” He pauses to crouch and evaluate a part of the stone floor, frowning at a crack. “He works for Miss Andromache- she owns a ranch west of here. You’ll probably be seeing a lot of them, making horseshoes and all. Like I said, he’s the quiet sort. The only one who knows anything about him would be Miss Andromache.” Booker gives him a sly look, mouth ticking up in the corner. “Although, there are a few rumors.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know, all the best kind. Some say he was fleeing the mafia back in Italy, came here to avoid getting thrown into the ocean. Others speculate he used to be an outlaw highwayman, robbing the wagon trains and killing families.”

Yusuf recalls the tender man he’d seen in the square, talking ever so softly to the stallion to bring it in. “Those are some awfully violent rumors.”

Booker stands and dusts himself off. “It’s that scar. Looks too much like something you get in that kind of work. But, coming from someone who’s seen their fair share of it,” He says with a humorless chuckle, “He doesn’t seem the type. If you ask me, he’s just like every other poor soul that wandered out west looking for something better.”

“Did you?” Yusuf says, locking his gaze onto the other man.

Booker is silent for a long while, chewing on his answer like tobacco. “I did. And, lucky me, I actually found it.” He claps Yusuf on the shoulder, looking back around at the forge and breaking their brief moment of intensity. “It’s not a bad place, but it’s going to take some work. You think you’ll be able to handle it on your own?”

He blows out all his air in a big sigh, already dreading the laundry list of things to repair. “I believe so. Though I may not open until December at this rate.”

“Well, let me know if you need any help. I won’t charge you much for my time,” Booker’s eyes glimmer mischievously even in the dim light. “ _If_ you can supply some of those ginger candies from your sister’s store.”

Yusuf shakes Booker’s hand gratefully and with a genuine laugh. “Done.”


	2. Formal Introductions

_**September 1870**_

Nicky considers himself a simple man. He likes his books and he likes the mountains. He likes the quiet of small creeks in the spring and the way lightning has a habit of striking that old husk of a tree on the hill every time a thunderstorm rolls overhead. He liked the hills back in Italy and his grandfather’s garden, the one he’d let Nicky help him with during the warm summers.

But his greatest joy in life lies right here.

He can remember some words his father said when he was a boy, still learning how to ride, about how special the bond between a rider and a horse can be. _If you have faith in them, they will always take you where you need to go._ In retrospect, Nicky can see the glaringly obvious lack of the word “home” in that statement, but he understands the sentiment. Elettra had brought him where he needed to be, after all. He has her to thank for the charmed life he leads now, with a roof over his head and all the silence he could ask for.

Elettra knickers right by his ear, startling him back almost into the stool behind him. She turns her neck so that she can chew his hair affectionately, ignoring his small protest and attempts to bat her away.

“I am trying to brush you out,” Nicky murmurs to her in Italian. “You’ll have to leave me be or I won’t be able to reach that spot on your back.”

That seems to be enough to placate her, settling back into a resting position of looking forward, simply basking in the careful ministrations the brush makes over her coat. He smiles fondly and gives her a quick pat to the side.

“How did you get to be such a spoiled horse?”

To that, Elettra has no response except to shift her body closer to him, obviously eager for him to resume. Nicky shakes his head and complies, dragging the brush through the light hairs at the base of her neck. Her winter coat will start to come in soon, all soft and thick. Elettra really prefers the summer and going down to the stream where she knows Nicky will dump water on her back and let her stomp over the smooth rocks, but he can’t help but adore her winter coat. Then, he can curl into it when the air is so cold it bites at him, bury his fingers to keep them warm.

He’s always careful with her, every time he does this. It is not a ritual to be rushed. It’s how he thanks her- she carries him to where he needs to be, and in gratitude Nicky brushes her and feeds her treats and spoils her absolutely rotten. He’s honestly got the better end of the deal, considering the number of times she’s saved his life.

Behind him, Nicky hears the sound of hay crunching under a boot. He’s expecting to see Andy when he looks over his shoulder, ready to give him another task to complete for the day or errand to run, but the figure he is met with couldn’t be less like her.

Mr. Merrick is a small, rat-looking man who wears fine suits and a bowler hat, an ensemble far more fitting to one of the larger cities rather than a newly formed town in one of the western territories. Nicky hadn’t had much interaction with the man, and only knew as much about him as Booker had said in one of his long, rambling stories- that he was from money, and that he never paid up for what he lost playing cards.

Nicky already doesn’t like him.

“Excuse me,” Mr. Merrick says, looking distastefully around at the stables before setting his eyes on him. His voice is annoying, and nasal, and affected by a British accent of all things. “But I am looking for Miss Andromache. Is she here?”

Unwilling to give this man any more effort than completely necessary, Nicky simply shakes his head and turns back to Elettra, who was not happy that he’d turned his attention on someone else. Merrick snaps his fingers as soon as his back is turned, attempting to get his attention.

“Hello? I’m not done talking with you yet.” Merrick marches forward into his eyeline, standing right at Elettra’s side so that Nicky can’t avoid him. “Do you know where Miss Andromache might be?”

Again, Nicky only shakes his head. He doubts that Andy had this man as a willing caller, and doesn’t feel the need to bother her with this man’s particularly aggravating presence.

Merrick huffs out in frustration, putting his hands on his hips. “What? Do you not know how to speak properly, boy?” Nicky feels a cold and familiar rage burning in his chest. He carefully restricts it to a single speck. “Do. You. Speak. English?”

With that, Nicky turns completely towards him, face completely blank in an expression that Andy has deemed his “ _Kill-a-man_ ” look. “Am I going to need to escort you off of Miss Andromache’s property, _sir,_ or will you be leaving before I kick your teeth in?”

Merrick stumbles, taken aback. To some great satisfaction, Nicky notices that his boot catches in the manure Elettra had so kindly laid out beforehand.

“You- You’d do well to treat me with some respect!” Merrick squeaks out. “Do you know who my father is? I swear, I will make you _regret-“_

“The only thing anyone will be _regretting_ , Mr. Merrick, is you continuing to harass my stablemaster.”

Almost like one of the blessed saints themselves, Andy appears at the entrance to the stable, still in her riding trousers. The bottoms are all covered in mud, meaning she probably stopped at the Tullman farm just long enough to pull out one of their calves from the spot at the bottom of their hill. He quirks his lips fondly at the sight and revels in the way Merrick scrambles to make himself presentable. He rubs his boot on the packed earth floor.

“Miss Andromache! Just the woman I was looking for.” He doesn’t spare another glance at Nicky before making a beeline to her, a new saccharine smile plastered across his sallow features. Quietly, in a voice so low that he’s certain only Elettra can hear, Nicky asks if he looks more like a scarecrow or a rat. He’s leaning more towards scarecrow with each stilted movement he makes towards Andy,

Merrick holds out his hand like he’s waiting for Andy to offer hers up so that he can kiss it, but she keeps her hands firmly planted on her hips, watching him with an unamused expression. To his credit, Merrick takes it in stride and pockets his hand back within his jacket. “You see, I was hoping to continue that lovely conversation we had back at the general store the other day.”

She snorts, to his obvious disdain. “As I recall, it was less a conversation and more you talking at me while I tried to get another shipment of leather sent in.”

“Ah. Yes, well-“

Andy doesn’t let him continue. Instead, she holds a hand up to stop him in his tracks. “I’m not selling. This is my property. Now, I suggest you get off of it.” She turns her gaze over Merrick’s shoulder. “Nicky, could you help Mr. Merrick find his way back to the road?”

He straightens out his jacket, small and angular little face going red. “No need,” Merrick says haughtily. “I will see myself out.”

Before he’s all the way out of the stable, he stops and rounds back on Andy, wagging a finger in her face. “Just remember this, Andromache, when you’re drowning. We could have had a very _fine_ working relationship.” And then he stalks back out in the direction of the road, tripping over a gopher hole in his childish stomping about.

Andy watches him go, a tired expression replacing the steel she’d displayed earlier. It’s a look Nicky is familiar with and doesn’t like to see on her.

“Andy?”

She takes a deep breath and sighs, mustering a small smile for him as she approaches, pulling over a nearby stool.

“It’s fine, Nicky.”

He snorts. “Sure. Steven Merrick comes waltzing up to the ranch demanding to see you, and everything is _fine._ What’s this about selling?”

“It’s not happening.” Andy says, whip quick and fixing him with a hard look. “At least, not to him.”

Nicky is quiet for a long time, turning his attentions back to Elettra. He tries to calm himself in the hypnotic motion of bringing the brush up and over her side again and again. “There is the other solution we talked about. If that’s what’s causing this whole mess, then-“

Andy is hasty to cut him off. “Nicky, _no._ I’m not firing you. Where the hell else would you go?” She absentmindedly strokes Elettra’s side. “Besides, how could I let you take my best friend away from me?”

He narrows his eyes. “I can’t tell if you mean me or her.”

She smiles something secret, something that has Nicky almost-smiling as well. “Oh, I suppose I mean you. For now. I wait with bated breath for the day she manages to one-up you.” Andy clears her throat and scrunches her face up suddenly, searching around in her pockets for a folded piece of paper that she presses into his hand. “Today’s shopping list. Tell Miriam to put it on the tab, I should have the right stuff to trade next week.”

“You’ve got it, boss.”

“Oh!” She remarks, tapping on the paper. “And I’d like you to go talk to that new blacksmith. Booker mentioned he’s going to be slow setting up shop, but it would be nice to see if you can strike some sort of deal with him for regular horseshoe replacements and maintenance. Maybe you two can work together.”

Nicky’s mind flashes to a few weeks back, his heart pounding in time with Elettra’s hooves against the dirt road as they gave chase to the stallion. The way people had stared and whispered, how they always do, and the man that Booker had been standing with, unlike any other that watched him. He’d seemed almost in awe, rather than fearful. Dark curls on his head and a smartly kept beard, crows’ feet at his eyes from smiling. A man like that belonged in large cities, drinking coffee over the river, laughing with the lamplight shining off of him

Before his thoughts wander much further, he buries the thoughts in his mind as much as he physically can. “I’ll see to it, Andy. I’ll head back out once I’ve got her saddled back up.”

Elettra whinnies next to him, not thrilled at the prospect of having to gear up again after already going on their usual walk to all the neighboring farms. He pats her flank in gentle understanding, but still moves to grab her tack.

“And Nicky?”

He turns to Andy, who has begun to make her way out of the stable. “Yes?”

“If Merrick shows up again, show him the gate. Quickly.”

Nicky raises an eyebrow. “And if he won’t budge?”

She grins deviously. “He’s a small man. Pick him up.”

*

Riding into town is always something of an ordeal for him. Three Forks was hardly the worst place he’d been, wasn’t even in the top twenty. Still, there was something about the glances cast his way when he passed that rose the hairs up on his neck. That awful little voice in his head loves to take those moments to speak up, whispering to him between the sound of Elettra’s hooves hitting the dirt.

_They know what you did. You’ve still got blood on your hands- haven’t you tried to wash it off? No. Better to let them know you for what you are._

He does not let the voice take up his mind for long. Instead, he grips the reins harder, letting the soft leather press into his palms as his thoughts go wonderfully blank. Nicky’s legs press into Elettra’s side once more, spurring her faster down the dirt road.

As per usual, his coming into town is met with an audience. Like the voice, he does not let them take up any residence in his mind. Simply stares blankly ahead, fixing his hat low on his head to shield his eyes from the sun. Even when he dismounts he keeps his eyes down, letting his gaze rest just below the faces of those who pass him by as he walks into the general store.

Miriam, bless her soul, is always kind to him. She’d told him once that he reminded her of her father, a bit, with his soft spoken nature. It had been the first time in a long while he’d been compared to anything in a positive way, and he’d given her the rare smile here and there for it. Little Noor was a joy to behold too, a mess of wild curls and boisterous laughter. Each time Nicky came in she’d be sitting next to her mother at the counter, talking endlessly about her studies in the schoolhouse and what the other children had been up to.

Noor is there today, little legs swinging underneath her dress as Miriam speaks to another woman, smiling broadly and handing her a packed basket. Nicky doesn’t need anything from the displays- although he does eye the very few books Miriam has in stock covetously- and his main business lies with Miriam, so he decides to stand a polite distance away from them to wait. It’s clear, however, that upon noticing his presence the woman gets more uncomfortable. She looks over to him and back, quick enough that she probably assumes she’s being sly, and shifts in place. Miriam also takes notice of this and her brow creases because of it, wishing the woman a good day when she finally starts to wander off.

Miriam turns to him. “Nicky, there’s no need to hide in the corner. Even shadows are welcome at my counter.”

This seems to make little Noor laugh, trying to stifle it behind a hand. Nicky lets the side of his mouth tick up.

“I see. Well, some shades are better left in the dark. Besides, you seemed to be having a pleasant conversation.”

“Pleasant conversation? Nicky my darling, you just spared me from yet _another_ invitation to church.” She rolls her eyes and sets her lips in a disapproving frown. “She doesn’t seem to understand that I have no interest in converting.”

Nicky’s eyes narrow. “Has she been bothering you that much?”

“Every day. I should be thanking you for sparing me.”

He makes a mental note to keep an eye out for Mrs. Sutherland and to pass this information over to Andy. While he may be intimidating, Andy was a woman of both stature _and_ reputation. If anyone could send the fear of God running through them, it would be her.

Nicky passes the slip of paper off to Miriam, shaking his head. “Nothing to thank me for, Miriam. You’ve been very kind to Miss Andromache and myself.”

She glances over the list and marks a few things down on her own receipt pad, turning away from the desk to pull a few burlap sacks of grain from a storage closet behind her. She sets them down at the counter with a huff, putting her hands on her hips.

“Yes, well. Andy is a good friend. And I’d like to think you are too,” Miriam says with a wink. She taps the bottom of the list he handed her, raising an eyebrow to him. “Are you visiting the new blacksmith today?”

He nods. “Yes. Andy wants to see if he’d be willing to create a long-term partnership with the ranch in terms of supplying horseshoes and parts to repair the farm equipment that she loans out.”

A funny look crosses Miriam’s face, one that Nicky doesn’t quite understand. “He should be very amenable to such a thing. Though it looks like the forge won’t be running anytime soon, especially if he keeps spending his days talking Booker’s ear off.” She chuckles as if there is a joke he’s missing. When his face remains blank, Miriam stops. “Oh, don’t worry, I just have to poke fun at him. Yusuf is an excellent blacksmith.”

“You know him?”

She fully snorts then, a sound which gets Noor giggling in her seat again. “Yes, I know him. Perhaps a little too well. Yusuf is my older brother.”

Nicky’s mind flashes back to the man that he’d seen outside the forge, blushing when he recalls the similarities. He’s a bit embarrassed at not seeing the resemblance sooner, but hides it by ducking his head into his chest.

“Well, if he’s half as wonderful as you are, then I am sure we will get along fine.”

Miriam finishes writing his receipt and tears his copy from the pad, passing it over along with the sacks of grain. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Nicky.” She slides him an apple from a sack just to her side with a kind grin. She absolutely refuses to take any money for it, though Nicky promises himself he’ll come back with another honeycomb for Noor in exchange. He leaves the shop feeling lighthearted, bidding farewell to both Miriam and Noor with a small wave before lugging the grain back out to Elettra.

He ties the sacks up on her saddle, mentally preparing himself for the task ahead. She takes particular notice of the apple in his hand, which he drops into her saddlebag with a pointed look that conveys she will not be getting it until after they head home. As he takes Elettra’s lead, choosing to walk her down to the forge rather than ride, Nicky tries to recall the last new person he’d talked to. It is with growing discomfort and a painful squeezing in his chest that he realizes that person was Miriam, and they had been friends for over a year now. He’s speculating why Andy sent _him_ to set up business relations, knowing his general awkwardness in conversation when he finally rounds the final corner to see the forge.

It’s already looking much better than it had a few weeks ago. The shattered windows have been replaced and the old glass has been cleaned up. There’s some fresh lumber in a pile outside, as well as piles of dirt that have been pulled up from around the base of the building. It is otherwise still in disarray, raw materials and tools that Nicky recognizes as reagents for smelting strewn about the property.

Nicky almost stops dead in his tracks as he approaches the property, Elettra’s lead still in hand. The man out front is chopping wood, waistcoat hung up on the nearby fencepost. It’s like his mind has slowed to honey, watching him work. The dark curls on his head are plastered to his face with sweat, the exertion giving him a sheen all over his bronze skin. His loose linen shirt sticks to his body in the summer heat, stretching taut across muscle as his arms come up for another swing of the axe. Nicky tries to recall every phrase and every word for beauty, or power, or _radiance_ that he’s ever come across in any of his books. None of them are adequate.

He feels his face grow warm at the sight. Nicky’s not sure what’s come over him, but it leaves him fumbling with the rope when he tries to tie Elettra to the post near the entrance to the forge. Nicky hasn’t stumbled with these knots since he was a child first learning them, and yet the brief sight of this man doing something as simple as chopping wood has him fluttering about like a schoolboy.

Then the memories crop up, of when he was a younger man- of when that feeling had sent a thrill through him rather than made him sick to his stomach. Antonio outside his family’s estate, shining with sweat and chest heaving with the exertion of wrangling the horses. Nicky shakes his head furiously. He’s been able to keep the memories away well since he started to work for Andy. The dreams hadn’t gone, but they never did. That these memories were coming up now, like this, didn’t bode well.

Nicky takes a few deep breaths, closing his eyes as he leans his head against Elettra’s side. She seems to sense his tension, taking a step towards him and craning her neck to bite at his shoulder.

“Hello, sir! Can I help you?”

He whirls around, ears going pink. He silently chastises himself for allowing himself to be seen in such a state before steeling his gaze, approaching him with long strides.

Yusuf has kind eyes. They watch him as he walks closer, reflecting glimmers of the sun like it’s what they were made to do. He’s also smiling, just letting his mouth curl at the edges, the movement almost lost in his meticulously kept beard. If Nicky had not had as much practice as he did ignoring baser impulses and feelings, he might’ve reached forward to bury his fingers in it. Instead, he plants his hands on his hips and cocks his head in greeting.

Before Nicky can find his tongue again, Yusuf’s eyes widen. “You’re _him._ ”

He truly, honestly doesn’t know what to say to that. Nicky was well aware that gossip travelled quickly in small towns, but he’d been hoping Yusuf hadn’t been in town long enough to hear it. Though, he supposed with the spectacle he’d made upon their first meeting, it was to be expected. Yusuf seems to catch himself, chuckling awkwardly and leaning on his wood axe.

“My apologies, I’m not usually so rude. You just, ah- you made an impression on me.” Yusuf extends his hand. “I’m Yusuf al-Kaysani. It’s a pleasure.”

Nicky doesn’t think anyone has described meeting him as a “pleasure” in years, but he shakes the hand offered to him anyway. Yusuf’s grip is strong, but his fingers are far more slender than he’d expect for a blacksmith. He stares at where their hands touch, unable to tear his gaze away. He’s vaguely aware that he’s breathing a little too hard for only a short walk across town.

Quietly, once his tongue has movement again, he replies. “Nicky. Just- just Nicky. Please.”

“Right,” Yusuf says, smiling like he was expecting that answer. They finally drop their hands (though who pulls away first, Nicky can’t say). “Well, Nicky, what can I do for you? The forge isn’t quite up for operation yet,” He grimaces and waves a hand toward the building next to him vaguely. “So I won’t be able to take any orders just yet.”

“I’m here on the behalf of my employer, Miss Andromache. She has a business proposition.” Nicky tries to get it all out in one breath, doesn’t want to give himself time to stumble over his words.

Yusuf nods, then stares up at the sun with a distasteful eye. “Well, Nicky, I’d be happy to talk business with you.” He turns back to him. “But inside. The sun is too damn hot for decent conversation. Besides, my father would march over from London if he found out I wasn’t a good host. Come with me.”

He begins to walk away, and _Madre de Dio_ is Yusuf attractive. Nicky has been good at ignoring himself for a long time. This man seems specially designed to test that.

Yusuf motions him to follow, moving past the forge and behind to a section of the property removed from the view of the rest of the town. There’s a house, more a shack than anything else, that he’s led into, watches Yusuf have to duck his head slightly to get through the doorway and has to do the same for himself.

The interior of the house is more hospitable- it’s a single room, bed and kitchen range and a few dingy chairs all squeezed in, but it’s comfortable somehow. Rugs that look far nicer than their surroundings have been placed for the wood floor, and shelves of books line one wall. Nicky eyes them, heartbeat picking up at the sight of so many. From here he can see some titles in Arabic, but a number of others in French and English as well. There also seem to be a couple in Italian, a fact that makes him long for his father’s study.

Yusuf directs him to sit at the small table, which is currently covered in loose sections of parchment. Before he’s able to sweep them all up in his arms to clear it off, Nicky catches on the pages elegant sketches of a horse, rearing up on its hindquarters. Every part of him begs for a closer look, but just as soon as he’s seen it, it’s gone again, stuffed into a trunk at the foot of the bed in the corner with the rest of the papers. Yusuf smiles sheepishly at him, cleaning his hands off on his trousers and moving over to the range to put the kettle on, lighting the stove from beneath with a matchbox he pulls from his pocket.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” he says, producing a small tin from a cupboard above his head. “You’re my first guest since I’ve moved in, I wasn’t quite prepared to entertain.”

Nicky waves him off. “There’s no need, really. I don’t mean to be a bother.”

“It’s no bother, Nicky, truly. I enjoy getting to talk to new people.” The sincerity in Yusuf’s voice has a blush creeping up into his cheeks and ears. He winks at Nicky, which does not help the redness that’s beginning to crawl and heat up his chest. “I have to admit, I was curious about you. Booker has told me a great deal about you.”

“I have no doubt that he has,” Nicky says, a frown curling his lips down. “People in town like to talk a great deal.”

“I can certainly understand that.”

Nicky looks up at him, scanning Yusuf’s face. They stare at each other, longer than Nicky has ever bothered to hold eye contact with anyone besides Andy. His rational mind is begging him to look away, to say something, to get this damn business _over with_ so that he can go home and pray that he won’t be sent to talk to Yusuf for at least another month, just so he has enough time to recover. The other part is intoxicated. He feels too seen, like somehow Yusuf’s gaze has speared through his chest and shined daylight into each and every recess that he’s tried to shadow, all with only a few sentences exchanged between them. It’s unnerving.

Thankfully, Yusuf is the first to look away. “So, you said you had a business proposition for me?”

Nicky clears his throat. “Yes. Ah- Well, my employer raises and sells horses, with my help. We can get a better price for them if they’ve already got their horseshoes and tack all ready to go. Miss Andromache was wondering if we couldn’t find some sort of deal for them, given that we’ll be frequent customers.”

“I suppose it would depend on how much of a discount you’d be asking for,” Yusuf says thoughtfully, taking the kettle off of the range when it begins to whistle and pouring the liquid into two tin cups. He takes a small spoon and dips it into the tin, dropping in what Nicky assumes is tea to both of them. “I’m still a starting business, Nicky, I can’t go giving discounts to every handsome enigmatic stranger I see.”

Nicky’s heart stops at the word _handsome_. How to find words when the first man to truly remind him that he’s susceptible to good looks and a silver tongue gives him a compliment, he doesn’t know.

“You’d have to take that up with Miss Andromache, sir. I can’t speak too much on what she would find agreeable.” Nicky says tightly, holding on to the handle of the cup Yusuf hands him with white knuckles.

Yusuf smiles. “I suppose I’ll have to make a trip out to the ranch sometime so that we can get acquainted with each other.” He sighs and looks out the window wistfully. “That is, if I ever actually get the forge in working condition. At this rate, I may not be able to start working until the snow settles in.”

“Is the building so bad? There was another blacksmith not long ago, and things seemed to work well while she was here.”

“Yes, well.” He grimaces. “I have a feeling that this previous blacksmith left with a vendetta against the bank when she sold it. Most of the issues look like they were made on purpose. Lots of little things too, that wouldn’t look too bad if someone who didn’t know what they were doing saw it. Unfortunately, there are many things that need to be fixed before I can even start.”

Nicky sips the tea in front of him, hissing when he remembers that it did, in fact, just come off of the range. “I thought Booker was helping you with repairs?” Yusuf shoots him a look and he shrugs. “He mentioned it while he was at the ranch last.”

“He is. And he’s been a great help, don’t get me wrong. I would still be quite behind if it weren’t for him.” He sits down across from Nicky, rubbing a hand over his face. “But he’s a very busy man. Between all the small repairs he does for the town, plus helping Doctor Freeman, he can only spare a day or so each week”

Normally, Nicky is quite slow and calculated with the things he says. Yusuf, however, seems to have thrown his composure to the wolves. “I could help.”

Yusuf looks up at him incredulously. “What?”

He swallows, suddenly realizing what he’s just volunteered himself for and now searching for the best way to salvage anything he had left of the wall he was meant to be keeping up. “I have duties on the ranch, of course, that would take precedence. But this time of year I normally have my afternoons free to do with as I wish.” Nicky glances up from his cup. “Perhaps my labor in exchange for that discount.”

The harsh drum of his heartbeat in his ears drives up a tide of anxiety in his chest, waiting for a reply. Nicky wasn’t sure why he was so _damn_ concerned about if Yusuf said yes, or what he thought about him at all. Still, it’s pressed back and subsides the moment he sees Yusuf’s face split into a grin that could crack the mountains in half.

“I believe that would be quite agreeable, Mr. Nicky.” He takes Nicky’s hand in his to shake, holding it for a moment too long. “I look forward to working with you.”


	3. A Somber Fanfare

_**October 1870** _

Things are moving faster at the forge now that Nicky is around to help. Or, it's faster than Yusuf working all on his own. It's definitely not as fast as it should be, given that there are two of them. He imagines the forge might even be open by now if he weren't so prone to being distracted. Even on those days that Booker can spare to come along, Yusuf spends an inordinate amount of time lost in his own thoughts.

The thing is, Yusuf knows how to be professional. There had been men who worked as apprentices in his uncle's forge who were perfectly handsome, and he had been provided every opportunity to stop and ogle them as their muscles flexed, working the metal into shape. But he had remained steadfast and avoided a number of burns he could have gotten otherwise. Even when he worked in his father's shop- yes, perhaps he’d flirted with a customer here and there, but that had been part of his charm.

Nicky, though. Nicky practically demands attention without so much as looking at him. He scrapes mortar into the cracks in the foundation and lifts the raw lumber like it's nothing, speaking in a voice so soft Yusuf wonders if it might break. His hands are broad, sturdy- working hands, surely rough with callouses. Yet, when Nicky calms his horse or gives Yusuf a wave goodbye, he is entirely certain that they'd feel like satin against his skin.

Were Yusuf still a gangly, tenacious schoolboy, he might have called it a crush- even despite Nicky's general lack of verbal communication. Greetings were exchanged, they worked for however long Nicky was available after completing his duties at the ranch, and then they say their goodbyes. And still, Yusuf craves nothing more than those silent days of labor, watching those broad shoulders carrying materials into the forge.

By the time Yusuf actually makes it out to the ranch for the first time, he's about ready to enlist Booker’s help deciphering all the small little glances and half noises he and Nicky exchange. He's put on his finer suit, wanting to make a good impression on this Miss Andromache. It's stiflingly hot, and the ride on his mule-driven cart is torturous in the early autumn sun, but he's too distracted by running over the lessons of business etiquette his father drilled into him as a boy to truly care. He has not been so nervous in a long time about such things, his natural ease with people generally smoothing things along. This, however, feels important . Whoever Andromache is to Nicky, it’s clear he respects her. Yusuf doesn't want to imagine how Nicky might feel about him if he manages to piss off his employer.

He just wants to come prepared, is all.

When he turns down the road, following the directions Nicky had scribbled down in his neat, cramped handwriting on a scrap of paper, he knows immediately that it's the right property . Nicky's horse is hobbled outside, and the man himself is not far off, pasting a crater into the dirt. Yusuf waves as he approaches. He doesn't quite know what it says that, when Nicky only responds with a half nod, he can tell without words that something is wrong. He slows as he gets closer, nervousness beginning to build in his chest and at the tips of his fingers. If there's something afoot that has even as stoic of a man as Nicky rattled, he's got every right to be on edge.

“Nicky?” he says, once he's finally close enough. They're both out in front of the main ranch house, a barn not too far away and another, smaller building just off to the side of it. Yusuf glances over and sees another horse and cart . He dismounts and jogs to close the remainder of the gap between them. “Is something wrong?”

Nicky pauses in his tracks, giving him a concerned look. He seems to consider a moment before speaking. “It is... complicated .”

There's a furrowing in his brow, casting a shadow over those pale blue eyes. He wants to take his thumb and try smoothing out the creases.

Yusuf crosses his arms. “I have time for complicated .”

He is blessed with the fairest hint of a smile for his efforts. Yusuf feels like he could practically glow with the attention, no matter how small it might be.

“Miss Andromache had a visitor ride into town this morning. They’re- She is- hm.” Nicky pauses. “Miss Quynh has arrived. Andy’s… partner.”

“Her wife, you mean?”

He shakes his head. “No, they aren't married. They are, as they both have told me, ‘complicated’. Though at this point, yes. They might as well be.” Nicky looks over at him, suddenly blushing. “Sorry, it's really not my place to talk about them like this.”

“I asked, Nicky. No fault but my own.” Yusuf motions to the other cart. “That Miss Quynh’s?”

Nicky's face turns grave once again. “No. Doctor Freeman is here with Booker.” For a moment, Yusuf swears that he catches a waiver in Nicky's voice. “Quynh is… very sick. Nile doesn't know what, yet, but it doesn't look promising.”

Nicky is good at schooling his features, at presenting a calm and collected exterior. Aside from the brief flashes otherwise when he receives one of those almost-grins, Yusuf doesn’t think he’s seen Nicky any other way. Now, however, he looks frightened.

He steps forward, putting a hand on Nicky's shoulder before he can think too hard on it, his fingers warm from the contact. “I'm sorry, Nicky. I truly am.”

Nicky looks back at him, standing stock still, face working back into an expression that Yusuf doesn’t know how to read. He blinks slowly, however, and somehow Yusuf understands it as a subtle thanks.

“Yusuf. What brings you out here?”

He spins around, glancing at the front door to the ranch house. Booker greets him with a smile, the same sort he always does that seems a bit sadder than it should- a gallows grin.

“I was supposed to be meeting with Miss Andromache,” Yusuf glances over at Nicky, “Though I have a feeling that it will be postponed for the time being. You doing rounds with Doctor Freeman?”

Booker steps down off the porch and wipes his hands on a cloth he pulls from his pocket, nodding. “She and I were in town when Quynh rolled in, nearly falling off her horse.” He turns to Nicky. “I won't lie to you, _mon ami_. She isn't in good shape. Nile says she's in sepsis after a gunshot wound to the side.”

“Gunshot?” Yusuf exclaims. “Was she robbed?”

He only chuckles. “I would like to see some poor soul try. No, Quynh is a bounty hunter. It's not the first time she's come back with injuries, and hopefully it won't be the last, but…”

“It's never been this bad.” Yusuf finishes for him.

“Indeed. There is some luck though. Nile said that there's a medicine that might be able to help, but the nearest place that would have a shipment would be Boise. We're trying to figure out when the next mail delivery is going out there.“

“I will go.”

Booker blinks a few times, already watching Nicky disengage to fix his mounts’ tack. “What?”

“I said, I will go.” Nicky says simply, not looking up. “Elettra can make it down there in four, maybe five days.”

“Nicky…” Booker replies tiredly.

He stops, turning to Booker, his voice steely. “How much time does she have, Booker?” He pauses, continuing on when he doesn't get a reply. “Long enough to wait for the mail carrier?”

“No. But, Nicky, that road is not one to be taken alone. The mountain passes this time of year-“

Nicky shrugs. “She's family.” 

Yusuf stands reeling between them. “Is the road to Boise that bad? Part of the wagon train split off to head that direction before we got too far into the territory, they didn't seem concerned.”

“It's not so bad when you are in numbers and guarded by men with guns,” Booker says gruffly, “But it's a death wish to go by yourself .”

Yusuf can't say what drives him to respond. It could be that sense of moral duty that his father always chastised him for and swore would get him in trouble someday, or the incessant crush he had on Nicky- the need to alleviate the concern on his face in whatever way he could. Either way, he still manages to surprise himself when he speaks.“I'll go with him.”

Both Nicky and Booker stop to glance at him like he's just called the sky green.

“Yusuf, my friend,” Booker says, crossing his arms and frowning something deep and grim, “Did you not hear the part where I emphasized how dangerous that journey is?”

He had, in fact, heard that portion. However, Nicky’s face had spoken so, so much louder to him. “You said the road was only bad if taken alone.” Yusuf says cheekily. “This way, he won’t be.”

Nicky finds Yusuf’s gaze and holds it with an intensity that makes his breath stutter and catch in his chest. “I appreciate the offer, Yusuf. But this is not your business. You are a stranger to Quynh. I cannot ask you to do this.”

“The reason I _offer,_ Nicky, is because I would like to think that we have formed something of a friendship. I may be a stranger to Quynh and Miss Andromache, but I am not a stranger to you.”

He swallows, finding his mouth suddenly quite dry with the look Nicky gives him. Shocked is one word for it, and perhaps something else. Perhaps something closer to the way Yusuf wants to bring a hand out to caress his face, ease what worries that he can away. 

Instead, he makes do with patting the side of Nicky’s arm, letting his fingers linger over the bicep. “You have been kind to this strange newcomer,” He says with a bit of humor. “Allow me to help you with this.”

The other man is quiet. “You should not risk yourself just because you think you owe me something.” That delicate film is back over his voice, soft like velvet and nearly as fragile.

Yusuf quirks up an eyebrow. “Is it so hard to believe I might want to spend more time with you, Nicky?”

Nicky’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, eyes almost as wide as one. With a rush of satisfaction, Yusuf sees a blush creeping up on Nicky’s cheeks. He wants to take his flirting a step further, wants to see if that blush would creep down his neck and disappear beneath that red kerchief. He does not get the chance, however. Booker scoffs and glances between the two of them suspiciously.

Nicky sighs and allows a small smile to cross his face. He can’t help but picture clouds parting for the moon. “There’s no talking you out of this?”

He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no.”

“I knew there was a reason Miriam warned me about her stubborn older brother.” He then does the most shocking thing he could have done, a thing so startling it nearly turns him to stone. Nicky pulls him into a tight, warm hug. It’s perfect, with Nicky’s long arms just enough to feel positively surrounded by him. He smells like sweat and the dry summer hay, as well as a scent he’d begun to associate with the nearby patches of forest.

In a voice so small that Yusuf might have missed it were they not pressed chest to chest, Nicky whispers a tiny _thank you._ He shivers all the way up his spine, Nicky’s low voice suddenly causing him to feel much too warm in his suit.

“Alright then,” Booker claps his hands, drawing the two of them apart. “You should probably begin making the preparations, Yusuf. You don’t have much time to delay.” He slides up to him, giving a rueful look. “And you should break the news to your sister.”

Oh, Yusuf thinks. Right. His sister. His sister who was going to point out that he was probably an idiot, and was going to look his glaring crush in the eye.

“Shit.”

*

“That’s very funny, Yusuf. Hand me those potatoes?”

Miriam’s focus remains entirely on her cooking. He places a hand on her shoulder tentatively, already wincing and anticipating her wrath.

“That wasn’t a joke. I leave in the morning.”

She purses her lips and brings the knife down on the russet potatoes he passes her. “No, it surely _must_ be.” Miriam quips. “Because there is no way you would be leaving for a ten-day long journey when you have hardly been here a month and still have a forge to rebuild.” She sniffs. “Because that would be _unbelievably_ stupid.”

Yusuf smiles charmingly to hide a cringe. “Then perhaps I am.” She lets her knife clatter to the cutting board (he’s secretly happy she’s chosen to drop it rather than point it on him) and whirls to face him. “What was I meant to do, Miriam? Let the man go all on his own?”

“Yes!” She lowers her voice, casting a quick look at Noor at the dining table with her father to ensure they hadn’t been disturbed. “Nicky is a perfectly capable man. I have no doubt about _his_ ability to return intact.”

“I believe you are forgetting that I managed to make the trip from New York. You could hardly call me inexperienced.”

“Yes, on the wagon train where you were surrounded by people with guns paid to protect you. Are you going to tell me your aim with a rifle has miraculously gotten better?”

He sighs deeply and drops his head. “I couldn’t let him just-“ He smiles again, a bit smaller this time. “I will be fine.”

“And what of Charlotte?”

Yusuf blanches, feeling his blood run cold in his veins. “What of her?”

“Does this little adventure have nothing to do with delaying your wedding?” She says simply, hands on her hips. “It couldn’t be that you’re putting off the forge so that you have good reason not to bring her here?”

He goes silent, swallowing hard. “Quite truthfully, Miriam,” he says, staring at the wooden floorboards. “I hadn’t even thought of her.”

Miriam turns back to her cooking. “That much is clear.”

Yusuf withdraws into himself slightly, focusing on the remaining potatoes he’s meant to be peeling. It was true- he hadn’t even been thinking of Charlotte when he’d volunteered. In all honesty, he hadn’t thought of his betrothed since they’d crossed the Mississippi. There had, after all, been other things far more pressing at the time. Like surviving the journey. But here he was, meant to be making this new life for himself, supposedly for his future wife. And he hadn’t even spared her a second thought.

Theirs had been an arranged engagement. He’s only met her a handful of times, and always in the company of a chaperone. She seems nice enough, and they’ve had some pleasant conversations about art and poetry.

But he does not love her.

Not that love was really a consideration in this affair. The hope was that Yusuf might grow to love her in time, but the purpose of their engagement was simple economics. Her family owned a port in the north east, and Yusuf’s father had ships coming from London that would benefit from a cheap harbor. It was for the good of the family, just like Miriam and Edward’s marriage. They had found happiness in theirs. Yusuf hadn’t yet stopped hoping that he might find a similar joy.

Then, however, he’d gone out west. He’d seen this little town, and he couldn’t help but feel he’d made it a refuge away from that particular expectation. That perhaps as long as he was focused on the forge, he wouldn’t have to think about the woman he was expected to marry.

Miriam watches his face carefully, pursing her lips and looking at him piteously. “Yusuf, I know you don’t feel strongly for her, but you must give her a _chance._ Either that, or ask Baba to call off the wedding. You cannot simply let her wait for you.”

“I can’t disappoint him like that. You know how happy he was to have me engaged.” Yusuf says solemnly. “It’s part of my obligation to the family. I know that.”

He smiles at her, attempting to piece together some form of reassurance that he’s almost certain fails to do its job. “I suppose I had just hoped for a bit more romance in my story.”

Miriam pulls him into a crushing hug, winding her hands around his neck. “You always were an incurable romantic, Yusuf.” The next part she adds quietly. “I just hope it won’t break your heart.”

They stand in silence until the pot on the range begins to boil. She releases him quickly to tend to the food, finishing up with the potatoes and tossing them in. Without looking back at him she wipes her hands on a towel and sighs.

“Well. There are some pre-packed travel rations at the store. I suppose I can let you have them.” Before Yusuf gets a chance to thank her, she holds up a single finger. “ _However._ You have to promise you’ll come back alive and with all limbs intact. That’s the price.”

He grins, sweeping her up in another big hug. “I promise.”

*

The day they plan to leave is clear and beautiful. Yusuf wakes to only a few lazy clouds rolling across the pure blue sky, breaking up the relentless sunshine on the rolling hills with blessed shade. Being the kind of man he is, Yusuf can’t help but take it as some sort of sign of good things to come. He pulls himself out of bed, still groggy after rising for his morning prayer just over an hour ago and going back to sleep, and begins to set about the house.

He doesn’t have much to furnish his little shack, and even less that he can pack to take with him-he had needed to travel light on the wagon train, selling off most of his things before he’d left. Yusuf takes the few spare work shirts he has and bundles them into a bag, as well as pants and underclothes. The rations have already been divided up and set aside in bags that wait by the door. In a moment of indulgence, he also decides to pluck his well-worn leather bound notebook from the bedside table and shove it into his pack. If this journey is anything like the one he took from New York, he won’t have all that much time to draw or write, but travelling without the words to keep him company felt wrong.

When he steps outside, he’s quite loath to address the mule waiting for him. It stares at him with big empty eyes, almost daring him to try saddling it. Before he can make the attempt, he hears the scraping of horseshoes against the dirt road.

Nicky is walking two horses with him, both already saddled and ready to ride. They’re both magnificent creatures, and Yusuf can’t help but feel embarrassed for the poor mule he was about to take on a 300 mile journey. The mule, however, seems like it couldn’t care less.

“Nicky!” Yusuf greets jovially, jogging out to him. “I see you’ve brought some friends for us.”

His mouth does that small twitch of a smile, and why on _Earth_ did that send such a thrill through Yusuf’s chest?

“I thought you might need a mount worthy of the journey,” Nicky says. He passes one set reins off to Yusuf. “Or a mount worthy of _you,_ my friend.”

Yusuf’s head snaps up to meet Nicky’s gaze. As per usual, his pale blue-green eyes give nothing away, aside from perhaps a hint of mirth. He can remember a time in New York when a look like that would have the two of them stumbling into an alleyway within the hour. Miriam’s words about Charlotte are loud as church bells in his mind. He shakes himself away from the shape of Nicky’s slender waist and up at the horse provided to him.

It’s a gorgeous dark bay, with a coat the color of Turkish coffee. It’s a huge thing as well- the horse that he’s seen Nicky with is more muscular, lower to the ground where this one is lean and sleek.

“What’s your name?” Yusuf murmurs kindly, stroking its neck. “Something regal, I hope.”

Nicky coughs, clearing his throat. “Ah, that is Baklava. Baki, for short.” He can only shrug when Yusuf snorts and sends him an incredulous look. “He is Andy’s horse. She’s got something of an obsession.”

He moves forward, putting a hand on Yusuf’s shoulder and lowering voice. “She wanted you to take him. You won't find a better companion.”

“I’ll be sure to send her my thanks when we return.” Yusuf swallows around something thick that builds in his throat. “And what about yours? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten its name. It would be a shame, seeing as how acquainted we are about to be.”

Nicky’s eyes widen, looking between his horse and Yusuf a few times. “Uh,” He glances down at his boots, digging the toe in. A pink blush is rising up on the tips of his ears. “Her name is Elettra Fulvia.”

Yusuf raises an eyebrow. “A fan of Roman literature, then?”

“I… yes, I’ve read a few things here and there.” Nicky says softly. “Though I haven’t had any schooling on it.”

He considers Nicky, shaking his head. How did a man like Nicky- soft-spoken and reserved as he is, a lover of his horse and his literature- get such a reputation and such a scar?

Yusuf hands one of the bags of rations over to Nicky to tie up on his saddle, securing his own to Baki. “My friend, I think this trip will be better for the both of us than we imagined.”

They set off into town, both walking their horses through the town. They stop by the general store first, to say goodbye to Miriam. She and Noor both give Yusuf crushing hugs- Noor’s is almost strong enough to crack a rib, he’s sure. They don’t say much, aside from exchanging promises to be safe.

Miriam turns to Nicky, her gaze hard. She points a harsh finger at him. “Nicky, you’re a good man. I have no doubt you’ll do all you can to make it back alright.” Her voice wavers slightly. “But I need you to swear to me that you’ll do whatever you can to bring my brother back safe to me.”

Yusuf moves to argue, but then Nicky looks over at him. His mind goes pleasantly quiet.

“I swear, Miriam. I’ll bring him back.”

Her smile is at once both playful and worried. “You had better. Or I’ll have Andromache come and unleash her fury on you.” Miriam sniffs, taking Noor’s hand in hers. “Wave goodbye, Noor.”

“Bye Mr. Nicky! Bye Khaal Yusuf!” Noor squeals, flapping her hand at a hummingbird’s pace. “Be safe! Don’t die!”

They both can’t help chuckling to themselves at her display, nodding again to Miriam as they turn away. Nicky directs him to stop by the small clinic as well to see Doctor Freeman on their way out. She regards the both of them coolly.

“You have ten days, boys,” She says sternly, looking between them. “After that…”

Nicky nods. “I know, Nile. We will be back soon.”

She passes him a sealed envelope. “Here. This should get you a decent supply of the medication- or at least enough to do the trick. If there’s a big burly guy in there, ask for Dizzy, she’ll help you out. There are some directions on there as well.”

“Thank you.” He tucks the letter away safely in his saddlebags. He clearly struggles to find the right words, so he settles on a somber “Take care of Quynh. Don’t let her-”

“I’ll take care of her Nicky. You know that.”

Nicky swallows roughly and tilts his head in goodbye. They both mount their horses, looking off down the road out of town. Neither of them spurs their mounts onward, just waiting.

“Are you ready?” Nicky asks finally. “You can still change your mind. I won’t hold any grudge.”

Yusuf looks him over. There is no judgement in his eyes, no expectancy. He could refuse- he should, stay home and get the forge finished up so that he can take his blushing bride home.

“You wound me, Nicky. We haven’t even set off and you’re already sick of me?” Yusuf teases. “Well, you are out of luck. I’m determined, now. You’re quite stuck with me.”

Nicky smiles. It is, perhaps, the first full and complete smile Yusuf has ever seen on him. It’s a good look. “Alright. South, then.” He motions Yusuf on, bringing Elettra to ride up at his side. He looks over just as they pass the final lonely building at the outskirts of town.

“Yusuf?”

“Hm?”

Nicky’s eyes are stained glass in the sun, both the sky and the clouds and the oceans at once. “I am glad you are with me.”

“Me too, Nicky.”


	4. The Long Road

_**October 1870** _

Travelling with Nicky turns out to be a quiet affair. The man sits straight-backed on his horse, moving with the sways in its muscular body like it’s his own. Yusuf doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone more at ease on a mount. Nicky’s situated his hat low on his head, tilting it forward to shade his pale eyes from the relentless autumn sun. The few attempts Yusuf has made to start conversation fall flat, met with a motion of Nicky’s head or- if he’s exceptionally lucky- one- or two-word answers.

Still, Yusuf is determined to find the beauty in their time alone despite the somewhat somber nature of the trip. The route they begin down goes much further south than he’d ever gone on the wagon train, and it brings smooth riding and scenery he can’t help but marvel at. The slow rolling of the hills yields thick forests, interspaced with vast swaths of wildflowers in every color. Yusuf considers himself a city boy at heart, far more a fan of the constant vibrancy and thrumming heartbeat of worn cobblestone streets than the constant silence of the wind. But there is something about the tranquility of the wilderness that settles his mind.

There is also the view Yusuf has of the rider next to him. He doesn’t dare look at that one so brazenly, but he takes the opportunity when Nicky rides far enough ahead he’s confident that he won’t be caught. He evaluates the broad line of his shoulders, the way they stand so proudly now that they are outside of Three Forks. He’s almost baffled to see Nicky carry himself so easily out here, far from any eyes other than Yusuf’s to watch. In his mind, Yusuf is already practicing the proper strokes needed to make the form of those shoulders in charcoal, thinking how best to commit it to paper.

It comes as no surprise to Yusuf how enthralled he is. Nicky is an attractive man, and Yusuf has always had an eye for the aesthetics. The pretty men and women back in New York had been a different version of beautiful- always strutting in tailored clothes, chins brought up as if they owed it to themselves to showcase off the delicate beauty in their faces. They had been the young people in loud, boisterous parties and in bars where a fee could be paid to suspend the loneliness, just for a night. Yusuf had liked those quite a bit, perhaps even loved one or two when he was younger and hadn’t known any better.

Nicky, though, was an entirely different type of handsome. Yusuf doubted that the friends he’d made in the city would have thought Nicky as such, at least in his present attire. Nicky wore working clothes- all loose linen and accommodating cotton. They were not built to showcase his body or prove he was in fashion. They were simply comfortable. And yet, Nicky manages to wear them in a way that seems regal. His face bears an age beyond his years and somehow, he still has a magnanimity in it that makes Yusuf want to beg him to smile, just once.

Yusuf has never stopped himself from admiring beauty, but this feels like too much. Nicky is overwhelming in too many ways, and far too detached in others. He’s hardly even said a complete sentence to Yusuf since they left the previous day. Perhaps it is that mysterious quality that has him so drawn in.

Or, it could be that scar under Nicky’s eye and the revolver on his hip. Yusuf has elected to ignore them, as well as the rumors about him. Nicky had been nothing but kind to him thus far, and his ministrations with his horse spoke of a similar care.

The first time Nicky speaks in hours comes just as sundown is approaching, the entire sky bathed in gold and orange. Yusuf would have been lost in his own mind admiring the hue as they come up over the crest of a hill were it not for Nicky’s sudden stop, drawing his horse to a still and holding his hand out to pause Yusuf as well.

His eyes widen. “What is it?”

Nicky shakes his head and purses his lips. “Just- I thought I heard something. Maybe, I don’t-“

Before he can finish, Yusuf hears it too. A rustling behind them indicates the underbrush being moved aside. In the same moment, two men appear in front of them. If Yusuf cranes his head around, he can see a third and fourth.

“ _Cazzo._ Bandits.” Nicky mutters under his breath. From the way he says it and how his mouth presses into a frown, Yusuf can tell that there are several other curses that Nicky’s holding back.

The men in front of them seem worse for wear- more so than they are, at least. The one in front of them and to the left has an open sore on his cheek and he’s clearly bow-legged from long periods of riding. The one to the right levels a rifle at Nicky, grinning with a yellowed set of teeth that has more than a few missing. Yusuf doesn’t dare look back at the others, eyes fearfully glued to the gun.

“Alright, fellas, take it easy” The man with the gun says. “There’s no need for anyone to get hurt. Just dismount off your horses nice and careful, and we’ll be on our way.”

Despite his weeks spent in the wagon train, and his many years working as a merchant for his father, he’d never encountered any type of bandit or brigand or otherwise criminal- especially not out in the middle of nowhere with no help to be found. His heart is pounding in his ears, palms sweating where they grip Baki’s reins. Yusuf’s eyes flick over to Nicky, searching his face for any indication of what to do.

Nicky seems to be nearly made of stone, aside from the flexing of the muscles of his jaw as he clenches them. His gaze is set on the man with the gun, expression nearly blank. In a way, Yusuf is a bit more terrified of that face ever being turned on him than any danger the bandits might pose.

“We can hand you our saddlebags,” Nicky says finally, tone clipped. “We won’t be following you.”

The man with the open sore pulls a knife from somewhere in his road leathers, wielding it with a fury. “Did it sound like this was a negotiation? Off the horses, now!”

Yusuf can see Nicky’s hand press flat on Elettra’s neck. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Well, that is a shame.” The rifle cocks. “Because you’re coming down. One way or another.”

There’s a split second, where Yusuf watches on in horror as the bandit readies to shoot, giving Nicky a final opportunity to dismount. He wants to say anything, to tell Nicky to stop being an idiot, but his voice is caught somewhere in his throat. And then, in a blur of motion nearly too fast for him to make sense of, Nicky draws the revolver from the holster at his hip. There’s not a moment’s hesitation as he cocks it and pulls the trigger. The man with the gun never gets a chance to retaliate, the bullet stoppering the blood that begins to leak from his forehead. His companion to the left side sits in stunned silence, staring horrified at the first one’s body. It’s long enough to give Nicky the opportunity to fire again, felling him as well. The bullet hits just to the side of his sore.

Nicky spins to the men behind him, revolver already prepared to fire again. Yusuf turns his head to look at the remaining two, both of whom were clearly trying to determine whether or not to attack with their own blades when Nicky rounds on them.

His voice is laced with a deadly calm. “Drop your weapons.”

The men both look at each other, unsure. Nicky doesn't even give them the time to decide. He kills another with a shot to the throat dropping the man to his knees as he holds his neck. The blood spills out over it in an awful crimson tide. The final bandit drops his weapon and raises his hands begging for mercy.

His plea goes answered with a final gunshot.

Yusuf stares at the carnage, barely breathing. He had seen death before. He had seen illness, was not a stranger to it. This, however, had been murder. A swift deliverance of retribution doled out by the man Yusuf had only minutes ago remarked to himself on such care and gentleness. There is nothing in Nicky’s features now besides a vague disgust.

“... Nicky?”

He snaps his gaze over to Yusuf. In a millisecond that blank stare is replaced by one he's far more used to on Nicky- concern.

“Yusuf,” Nicky breathes out, far too soft for a man who just murdered four others. “Are you alright?”

“You killed those men.” He says dumbfounded. His voice is shaking, much like his fingers. “You just- we could have just _given-_ “

“No. We couldn't have.” Nicky interrupts. “We need the horses if we're going to make it to Quynh in time to be any good.”

His gaze drops to Elettra, combing through her mane absently. “Besides. I couldn't let them take her from me, Yusuf, that can't happen.”

There are words unsaid. A history Yusuf has yet to learn. Elettra brays solemnly, emphasizing Nicky’s point. He softens slightly at the sight, shoulders caving inward from their tense offset. 

“Alright, fine. That may be so. But that man had tossed his weapon aside. He was no threat and you shot him in cold blood.”

For the first time since Yusuf had met him, Nicky raises his voice.“And let him go on to rob or kill some other poor soul later? A family?”

Yusuf shakes his head incredulously. “I thought they were wrong about you. All those rumors back in Three Forks. I thought, there was no way a _kind_ and _good_ man such as yourself could be as cruel as they describe.”

A look flashes over Nicky's face. It makes his eyebrows draw together and tilts his lips into a frown. Yusuf can tell he struck a nerve, but he's too sick to his stomach to care. He's not sure what he hates more: the fact that Nicky did it, or that Yusuf understands his justification.

“Well. Now you know the kind of man you travel with.” Nicky says tersely. “If you would like to turn back, by all means. But I will not apologize for saving your life. It is not my fault if you are so foolhardy to believe those men would have ever let us live.”

“I am not a man of violence, Nicky, but that doesn’t make me a fool. Quynh needs assistance.” Yusuf spits out. “And at this rate, so do you. You are correct, sir, in assuming that I have little experience in such things, but I do know that there is _always_ another option. I am loathe to know what might have driven you to forget that.”

Nicky is very quiet then, and very distant. It seems like the few feet between their horses should be more like an ocean’s distance. “What do you want from me, Yusuf?”

“Well, for now I would appreciate you exercising some restraint. You cannot kill every person we come across.”

He stares at him for a long moment before nodding slightly. “I will do my best.” He's being sarcastic, but Yusuf hums in acknowledgement like it was sincere anyway.

“Good.” He gestures out towards the road. “Well? Lead on.” He refuses to have his back to Nicky for even a second. Yusuf does not fear that he will be betrayed, but there is something in the man’s eye that he would like to avoid being directed at him.

Somehow, even when Nicky clucks his tongue to spur Elettra on, Yusuf can feel that gaze ten paces ahead of him.

They don’t ride much longer, only long enough to find a spot to make camp, though they return to the same silence the morning had brought them. This time however, it was less than companionable. Yusuf feels like a string being wound over and over, replaying the deaths of the bandits in his mind. He does not believe in the loss of human life. There is value to it in any form. But, somehow, he can’t find it in himself to pity them. Surely the bandits, like Nicky and Yusuf themselves, had set to the roads knowing what fate might befall them. He warred with himself and, in his mind, Nicky over them.

What terrified him most of all, however, was how wrong he had been. Nicky had shown that there had been a certain truth behind the rumors, though more so than probably most people in Three Forks could have anticipated. Given his skill with the shiny revolver now tucked back into the holster at his hip, it wasn’t the first time Nicky had needed to use it, and Yusuf greatly doubts it would be the last.

Or perhaps the worst thing is that he doesn’t hate Nicky at all for what he has done. He doesn’t even fear him. Instead, Yusuf wants to learn if those cold blue eyes could burn in another way, one that might scorch into his own skin and find him raw.

When they find a proper spot to sleep for the night- a decent thicket of trees surrounding a small stream for the horses some ways away from the road- Yusuf makes a decent fire to warm them. Autumn’s cool chill is beginning to set in, and the absence of the sun makes its presence all the more known. He’s grateful for the heat, and breaks into his pack to pull out the rations Miriam had given him. More out of habit than anything, he splits half of his hard-tack and cheese and slices of dried meat and passes it off to Nicky with a grunt. He had always fed anyone who had needed it on the wagon train, given the very lucky position he had been in travelling alone and carrying extra supplies.

Nicky stares at the food in his hand, as if Yusuf had just offered him a venomous snake. He rolls his eyes and pushes his hand out further, insistent.

“Eat, please.” Yusuf says, stern but not unkind. “I don’t want to drag you back onto Elettra should you pass out.”

He gives the food another tenuous look before accepting, nodding his head graciously. The only sound that fills their small campsite is the popping and crackling of the fire, matched with Elettra and Baki’s breathing not far away. The sky is clear and bright, the moon in perfect crescent. Perhaps, under different circumstances, Yusuf could find this romantic. Being alone with the man he’s been watching from afar for weeks now, with only the stars to tell whatever secrets they might share. Under different circumstances, perhaps

“That wasn’t the first time you killed, was it?” Yusuf’s own voice surprises him, and the moment the words have left his mouth he regrets them. He’s not sure if he actually wants Nicky to reply.

Nicky’s gaze stays transfixed on the flames, somewhere far away and distant filling up his vision. “No. It was not.”

There is no further elaboration offered, and Yusuf does not ask for any. If the look on Nicky’s face is to be trusted, it is not a pleasant memory. He thinks there has, perhaps, been enough death for one day. It is still a long trek to the city. There will be ample time to pester Nicky about his previous murders on the road. For now, the man looks more tired than Yusuf has ever seen him, eyes sunken further into his head and his face paler than usual. They could both do with some rest.

When he’s consumed the rations he’s allotted for the night, Yusuf unpacks his small bedroll and tucks down for sleep, letting Nicky take the first watch. He positions his face towards the campfire- and therefore, towards Nicky. It is partially to reassure himself, to keep the man within his sight. He does not distrust Nicky, but the scene he had witnessed earlier had him on edge, glancing down at the holster and pistol that Nicky had unbuckled from around his waist and piled next to him on the ground, within reach if needed.

(It is also partially because, as his mind drifts, Yusuf imagines that the heat of the fire might also be the sensation of Nicky curled against his front as he sleeps. But that particular part he chooses not to admit to himself.)

*

The next morning, Yusuf’s body rouses itself for morning prayers like clockwork. His back aches from the hard ground, and he already finds himself yearning for the comfortable bed in his little shack back in Three Forks, but he rises nonetheless. There are more clouds in the sky this morning, rolling by in the near distance and pregnant with rain. He silently adds to his prayers the small request of keeping those clouds far out of their path. While the road thus far has been relatively easy to travel, he still recalls much too vividly the absolute nightmare of trying to get horses through a mud-soaked field. At the very least, there weren’t any wagons wheels to worry about getting caught. Yusuf positively shudders at the memory.

When he finishes, Yusuf elects not to go back to sleep. Instead, he pulls out his sketchbook and turn to the outline of the mountains not far away. His pencil sketches, forming shadows and depth almost all on it’s own as his muscle memory takes over. The process of putting the world to paper has always been a meditation of sorts. He allows his mind to wander. In that blissful state, there is no Charlotte, no forge, no family to please and no bandits being killed (no matter how deserving they might or might not have been). There is just Yusuf and his pencil, committing to trees with leaden strokes.

Nicky, of course, is the one to break him out of his fugue state. Yusuf spares a glance over, expecting to see his back still turned and asleep across the empty bed of coals that marks the grave of their previous campfire. Instead, he finds that the other man is quite awake. His eyes are wide open, watching him intensely and meeting his gaze when his pencil stills.

His breath catches in his chest.

Blue eyes had never been all that attractive to him. All the most wonderful people in his life had the warmest brown eyes- always inviting, always begging the question of what strands of gold there were to be found when the light hit them. Charlotte had blue eyes. The only words he’d thought fitting had been _cold, watery._ Unnervingly clear things that seemed too pale to belong to the living.

Nicky’s eyes, though similar in color, seem completely different. As far as Yusuf is concerned, he has never seen blue eyes before this moment. He has not developed any new love for the shade or found a reason to think them attractive. They simply _are._

Perhaps because they are Nicky’s eyes. Perhaps because they are looking back at him.

“Good morning,” Yusuf mumbles quietly. He sets his pencil down in the centerfold of the sketchbook. “You didn’t wake me for second watch, you know.”

Nicky blushes, but doesn’t look away. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep not long after you, I think.” He nods towards Yusuf’s lap, and the drawings visible there. “You didn’t mention that you drew.”

“You never asked.” Yusuf swallows.

“I’m sorry.” Nicky says. He frowns. It’s not just the sketchbook he’s talking about. He glances up at the sky, breaking their brief spell and returning things to reality. “We should get going. With any luck we’ll be at the base of the mountains by nightfall.”

“Breakfast?” He provides pointedly.

Nicky pinks up to his ears, coughing into his shoulder to hide his embarrassment. “Yes. Right. We should eat. First.”

Yusuf chuckles and shakes his head, tossing him one of the waterskins resting nearby. “I’m not sure how you’ve managed to travel by yourself before Nicky, if you forget to eat so often.”

“How lucky I am to have you, then.” Nicky says lightly. He takes a slow drink from the waterskin. His voice goes quiet. “Yusuf…”

He cuts Nicky off with a raised hand. “Don’t. I know things work differently out west. I do. I don’t know if I can forgive you, or even if you need forgiving. I don’t think it’s my place to say. I’ll leave that between you and God to rectify.”

Nicky laughs weakly. “I’d beg you not to condemn me to that fate. But I understand.” His fingers twitch where he sits, drawing absently in the dirt. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond but nods once to let Nicky know he’s been heard. Yusuf isn’t sure if things are stable now, or better. The air is certainly lighter, and when they move around each other to saddle their respective horses it’s closer to the cadence they kept working together on the forge. Not perfect, but it’s _something_ and Yusuf is going to latch onto that with both hands.

Today, Yusuf is determined to have good, proper conversation. The land has levelled out, making for clear visibility for the next mile and easy riding. They’re even able to keep pace, side by side. There couldn’t be a more perfect opportunity. Yesterday had been a quite stark reminder that Yusuf barely knew a thing about his travelling companion, and he is going to rectify that.

“So,” he starts, after they’ve been riding for an hour and he thinks the whispering of the wind in his ears is going to drive him mad. “Tell me more about yourself, Nicky. All these weeks of work, and I feel as if you’re still entirely a mystery to me.”

The other man shrugs. He pulls lightly on the kerchief around his neck. “I am hardly interesting. There is not much to know.”

“You could start with a last name?”

He licks over his teeth and frowns, almost like the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth to form them. “di Genova.”

“Hailing from Genoa, I presume?” It’s said half in jest, which is why it comes as a surprise to him when Nicky nods his assent.

“Originally, yes. But my family moved to Virginia when I was a young man.”

“That’s it!” Yusuf exclaims excitedly, prompting a huff from Baki beneath him when he accidentally knees the horse’s side. “I was trying to pin down what else was in your accent- I never would have guessed it was a twinge of a classic southern drawl.”

Nicky’s head snaps toward him, blue eyes blazing Greek fire. “Let me make myself clear. I am _not_ from the south.” He says distinctly. “I was simply there when I learned most of my English.”

The venom in Nicky’s voice takes him aback, sends him reeling. He hasn’t heard such passion and fever in his voice since the bandits. It takes a moment, the gears working in his mind, but then realization begins to dawn on Yusuf. He hadn’t been in America while the war was being waged, but he’d seen the scar it had left on New York in its aftermath. He should have known better, seen it in Nicky’s face. He’d known enough survivors to recognize the look.

“You fought in the war.” He says dumbly.

“Yes.” Nicky’s voice sounds strained. Tight. “I fought for what I knew to be right.”

“That’s admirable, Nicky. Why did you go north?”

He swallows, eyes fixed to the horizon. “I do not regret anything I did during the war, Yusuf. But-“ Nicky takes a deep, unsteady breath. “I would prefer not to broach the topic.”

Yusuf nods in acquiescence. “Alright. We don’t have to discuss it.” He cracks a grin, knowing that Nicky can see it out of the corner of his eye. “But I’d love to learn the story of how you got such a handsome scar.” He adds a wink to punctuate the statement.

Nicky offers him the barest curl of his lips in a smile for his efforts, but still he shrinks in on himself. “Perhaps someday. For now, there should be happier tales for the road.” Yusuf notes the deflect but elects not to comment on it. _All in good time._ “Tell me, what do you miss most about New York?”

Yusuf misses a great many things. Nicky admits that he’s never been to a city much larger than Boise, let alone New York, so he does his best to describe everything in detail. He’s spurred on by the way Nicky watches him- gaze glued as he speaks. It’s utterly terrifying to have his whole attention, focused and unbroken. Yusuf doesn’t want him to look away for a second.

He describes the way the lights of the city shone at night, like a private colony of stars reflected in the water, darkness no longer a force of nature but a beast that could be held at bay by the beating heart of the many buildings and roads. How alive the city always felt- the knowledge that no matter where you stood, you were never so far from a living soul.

There are other things he misses. The freedom he’d had in New York, away from his parents for the first time and not yet living with the cloud of his engagement hanging over his head. A time when he might’ve been able to entertain those lingering stares. He leaves that particular part out, though. While he quite enjoys the color of Nicky’s blush, he is not quite ready to divulge the entirety of his trysts back in the city.

Nicky returns the favor, talking until the sun begins to set about his home country. Despite his quiet nature, he goes on until his voice runs hoarse and scratchy. Yusuf can’t bear to look away from him for a single second, absolutely entranced to see him speak so passionately. He never raises his voice, but he speaks with a quiet intensity and glimmer in his eye that is enthralling.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Nicky begins sheepishly. “I was young when I left Italy. I won’t have nearly the same poetry to my words.”

He underestimates himself yet again. For the remainder of their travel that day, Yusuf swears that they travel not through the sloped-back hills of the Idaho territory, but the verdant hills of Genoa, the sea not far beyond and the crash of waves on the shore just audible above the wind. Nicky may not have had poetry to his words- not by his own standards, at least- but he certainly has a talent with weaving spells. Never before had Yusuf felt so transported.

When they bed down for the night, it is at the bottom of the mountain they are to climb and nestled in the bracket between adult oak trees. Yusuf watches Nicky out of the corner of his eye, evaluating the quiet ritual of him grooming his horse after removing her tack and setting it up by a nearby trunk. He collects some dry branches and twigs for a fire quietly, allowing Nicky his respite, however much he yearns to inquire more of the man. Listening to Nicky talk for such hours had seemed to sate an appetite he wasn’t aware he’d had, and he finds himself nearly desperate for more.

Nicky looks calmer, now. His shoulders are relaxed. He whispers to Elettra in hushed Italian, pieces of which Yusuf could understand, but could not grasp fully. Still, he brings his rations over to Nicky with a soft grin when he’s finished, pressing one of the ginger candies that he’d managed to squirrel away into his palm.

“Don’t tell Miriam,” He says with a grin.

Nicky unwraps the candy and pushes it into his mouth, past soft pink lips that Yusuf absolutely spends too much time staring at. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They lay down as before, across the fire from each other and with Yusuf looking at Nicky’s back. However, just before he can fall asleep, he swears that he can see Nicky turn around, smiling somewhat sadly at him. Then the darkness takes him, and when he wakes in the morning, he will be unsure if he had not simply dreamt the look.


	5. Slipping

**_October 1870_ **

The clouds have caught up with them.

Nicky finds that he is the first to wake, but the rain has already come. Their little thicket of oak trees has protected them from the brunt of it while they slept, but the remains of their campfire are damp, and the back of his shirt is already uncomfortably clinging to his skin. He grimaces, staring up at the mountain before them as he drags himself off of his sleeping roll. Nicky stands, his body aching with his night spent on the ground.

Yusuf is still sleeping soundly, even despite the rain. His breath is even, peaceful. If it weren't for the damp, Nicky might have considered letting him sleep just a little longer. But he's begun to shiver even as he rests, and Nicky is very quickly learning that there are lengths he will go to in order to keep that happy grin so vital to Yusuf’s face present.

Nicky crouches down to rouse him, a hand coming out to graze his shoulder. His hands shake at the thought of touching him like this- to bring Yusuf out of his dreams, only to be greeted with Nicky's face. He's almost afraid of the greeting he will get. Like Yusuf will open his eyes to the very same creature he seemed so frightened of after the bandits, and look at him with the hatred befitting of a monster. He does it anyway, rocking Yusuf’s shoulder until his soft, inky black lashes begin to flutter against his cheekbones.

Yusuf groans as he begins to wake . Nicky can't help the wave of fondness that washes over him when the other man's nose wrinkles up against the light, and he attempts to bury it further into the rolled-up pack that functions as his pillow. It's strange, but Nicky makes the observation that Yusuf sleeps as if searching for something, body curling around an invisible presence.

“Nicky?” Yusuf murmurs, voice still rough. He tries to ignore the urge to reach out and caress his face, to welcome him to the land of the living. Instead, he brings his arm back to himself.“ 's early. Few more hours?”

He chuckles quietly. “Any longer and you'll be waterlogged.” He stands again, grabbing another square of hardtack to pass to him. “We need to make it up the mountain today. There is a spot at the top where we should be able to safely camp.”

Yusuf takes the hardtack with a frown, eyes half lidded as he chews. “You are lucky I care for you Nicky,” he grumbles, words crammed together like pearls on a string.

Nicky freezes in his tracks. He shakes his head. His fingers tingle like the words alone have knocked the sensation from them. _Yusuf does not mean it. He’s half asleep._ “Indeed, I am,” Nicky responds softly. “Come- the rain will have made the pass slick and muddy. We will have to lead the horses on foot to be safe.”

“First you wake me early, then you tell me I must climb a mountain on foot? You truly are a cruel man.”

Nicky laughs, despite himself. “I know. It will go fast so long as you actually _get up_.”

Yusuf grumbles some more, but eventually manages to get himself together while Nicky saddles Elettra and packs his things. Yusuf is not far behind him, picking up speed as he begins to become more awake. Baki doesn't seem terribly excited to face the weather, and makes his displeasure known. Before they can begin their trek for the day, Yusuf looks up the mountain road and sighs.

“You're sure there's not a train?”

*

The rain only gets worse as they ascend. The path narrows between sheer rock faces, to the point where they are forced to travel in a single file line. Recent mudslides have blocked the main pass, leaving only the far more dangerous and narrow side roads. To his credit, Yusuf manages well on his own. He slips in the muck a few times, nearly giving Nicky a heart attack when he gets a little too close to the edge, but for the most part is able to keep his footing and make snarky comments up to the sky when another shiver wracks through him.

A brief glance over the edge of the path only provides a hazy view of the side of the mountain, almost a direct vertical drop that continues into the blurry fog that’s collected below them. Nicky grimaces down at it, and he can hear Yusuf gulp behind him.

“Are you certain there are no other paths?” Yusuf says wearily, voice wobbling. He looks away from the slope and back up at Nicky, seeking some kind of reassurance. It warms his heart, somehow, to be on the receiving end of it, but he just as quickly has to shake his head.

“This is it. All the other roads will take too long to get through.” Nicky firms his mouth into a line. “Yusuf-“

“No. Don’t.” He gives Nicky a playful glare. “I’ve already come this far, I’m not leaving you now. Even if I’m not the biggest fan of heights. You’ll just have to make sure I don’t get myself killed, alright?”

Nicky feels himself smile. “I will do my best. Keep your eyes on me.”

“I will.”

There’s a heat behind Yusuf’s words that have him blushing, the low timbre of his voice vibrating in his ribcage. He swallows and promptly turns back around, praying that he didn’t pick up on how flustered he was.

They begin their trek through the rocky slats of the mountain, with only a few more complaints from Yusuf. Elettra trails resolutely behind him, content to let Nicky navigate through the heavy sheets of rain that pour down on them from above. He squints against the onslaught pelting his face, stinging in ice-cold bolts against his cheeks. The thick clouds create an oppressive blanket, meaning that he can’t see more than ten feet in front of him. Nicky grits his teeth as his boot squelches into another patch of mud. The heel digs into the ground, trying to keep some purchase while he leads them forward.

He tries hard not to think of Quynh, lying in bed. How strangely grey her face had been, for the short time he’d been able to see her. Each torturously slow step feels like watching her slip away, moment by moment. He can’t fail her too. Nicky has lost so much in his life. He can’t lose her too. Not now, when his life finally seems to have started to make sense.

For the briefest of moments, he glances up to the sky- more out of habit than anything else. There’s no vision to be had, no saint looking back at him. He didn’t see why there would. But still, he can’t help but send up a silent, broken prayer.

It is in that moment of distraction, eyes away from the path ahead of him, that his foot slips. The rain on Elettra’s lead makes the leather slick, and even Nicky’s sturdy grip is not enough to keep him standing. He wobbles slightly, and then in slow motion and almost from an outside perspective, Nicky slips off of the side.

Falling is the strangest of sensations. It doesn’t feel like it could cause a death. Nicky has been shot before- he’s been cut, left to bleed out. Those _felt_ like death. He could sense it creeping up on him with every moment, every lethargic beating of his heart driving it ever closer. Falling was nothing of the sort. For a split second, Nicky is utterly weightless. He could fall off the mountain and right into the sky. He’s not sure it would be such a bad thing.

And then there’s an arm on his. Gripping his wrist. It hurts, but its solid enough to bring him back down from the clouds. Nicky’s staring at the face of the mountain, nose pressed into the rock. He looks up, at Yusuf’s face is the one to greet him. His kind brown eyes are wide in fear, and he’s saying something that Nicky can’t hear past the roiling thunder in the sky and the pounding of blood in his ears. But he can see his eyes, and that’s enough. Yusuf is holding him firmly, his only tether keeping him from slipping into the fog below.

“I have you,” Yusuf says, when Nicky’s hearing returns to him. “I won’t let you fall, I promise. Just- can you give me your hand?”

Nicky glances down, caught between Yusuf’s eyes and the long fall beneath him. “Yes, I believe so.”

Yusuf reaches out for Nicky’s free hand, gripping it tight enough to bruise.

“I’m going to pull you up. Alright? I won’t let you go. On three?”

Nicky doesn’t pay attention to the counting, can only nod his head dumbly. He only barely registers being hauled up by Yusuf’s strong arms (how had he managed to forget how powerful a blacksmith’s body could be?) because one moment he’s dangling over the edge, and the next Nicky has Yusuf pressed against the side of the mountain. Their bodies touch from knee to shoulder, both wet from the rain but still toiling with heat.

How could there be so many freckles on Yusuf’s face he’d never seen before? There’s one just beneath his right eye, a little thing that Nicky desperately wants more than anything to press his lips against. Yusuf doesn’t say anything, just stares at him while they share heaving breaths of adrenaline and exertion. Then, he’s crushing Nicky into a hug, pulling them closer together and burying his face into the crook of his neck.

“Got you,” Yusuf says quietly. “I’ve got you.”

Nicky’s not quite sure how, but he manages to remember what it’s like to hug another person. The tension in his shoulders dissipates. In a rare moment of peace, he drops his forehead down on Yusuf’s shoulder.

He speaks softly enough that he almost hopes that he can’t be heard. “Yes. Yes, you have me.”

It is then that Nicky feels something rise up in his chest. A familiar beast that hasn’t reared its head in years, come once again to take what little he has managed to build after it’s last decimation. He should have known from the start that this would come- when Yusuf first looked at him in the town square, not with fear or distrust in his eyes but _admiration._ He should have seen it when Yusuf offered to go on this trip, when he didn’t leave even after the bandits, when he reminded Nicky to eat.

Nicky is going to fall in love with this man. It’s not quite there yet, but he can sense it coming like a thunderstorm on the horizon. Likewise, he is absolutely powerless to stop it. His heart can already feel the bitter, ghostly thorns of anguish beginning to grow, preparing for when the storm sweeps in and obliterates everything in its path.

It is wholly terrifying. Nicky would prefer the ledge.

Yusuf clears his throat when they final part, blinking at him a few times through his dark, feathered lashes before fixing his gaze on the path ahead. Nicky is aware of where their hands still brush, forced closer by the narrow pass. The place where their skin touches burns like a brand.

Nicky is the first to move. “Come. We shouldn’t stay long. I would like to get off of this mountain.”

*

The remainder of the trek through the pass goes slowly, although the rain lets up after a few hours. Yusuf all but commands Nicky to slow his pace, forcing Nicky to consider his footsteps more carefully. It’s with a great breath of relief that they breach a clearing in the rock, where the mountain stream cuts the ground through in an old scar in the dirt and an overhang creates a somewhat dry section of ground not far off.

Yusuf heaves a sigh as he sees it, tying Baki to a nearby ash tree and throwing himself down under the ledge.

“I had not anticipated how much _excitement_ this trip would be.”

Nicky carefully leads Elettra to the stream to let her drink, raking his hands through her damp mane. “Do you regret coming yet?”

“No.” The speed with which he replies is baffling, like it doesn’t take a second thought. Nicky glances over at where Yusuf lays, watching as his warm eyes glint back. “Though if you try to tell me we’re going any further today, I just might.”

He glances up, attempting to gauge how many more hours of daylight they’ve got. It will still be an hour or two more before the sun sets- plenty of time to get the rest of the way through the pass. Beyond that, the city wouldn’t be more than a days’ ride. Still, he looks to Yusuf, and considers the exhaustion beginning to set into his own legs from the long uphill trek in the mud.

“We can rest,” He relents eventually, sitting down with a wince next to his companion. “But we’ll have to get an early start tomorrow.”

“I can live with that. Pass me my pack?”

Nicky catches a glimpse of lines of writing on the pages, some in the neat script of Arabic, some in English, some in other languages he can’t identify from the few moments he can see it. The lines are entrancing to him, the way they flow into each other seamlessly. It seems impossible that Yusuf could find anything else to solidify in Nicky’s mind how completely unworthy he was of the blacksmith’s attention, and yet the thought comes yet again.

“Do you write?”

Yusuf glances between his notebook and Nicky, wide-eyed. A soft flush creeps into his cheeks. It’s awfully endearing. “Oh. I’ve written a little myself, yes. But most of these are personal favorites by other authors that I transcribed.” He chuckles a bit, rubbing the back of his neck with a charcoal stick still in his fingers. “It’s nice to keep them on hand.”

“Poetry, I’m assuming?” Nicky asks.

“Yes. Though there are a few prose pieces. Those are mostly my own.”

“Would you mind,” Nicky says, attempting to force his mouth to form the words around his own resistance. “Reading some to me? I can’t pretend I’m well versed beyond the Italian works my grandfather used to quote, but I’d like to hear some. All of my books are back home.”

He neglects to mention that his collection consists of two small editions, one of which is in French- a gift from Booker- which he only read to be polite. None of his books from home had survived the war, and his funds had been low enough to necessitate caring for himself and Elettra first before he could spend any money on something as frivolous as a book. It’s all he can do to pray that Yusuf doesn’t catch on to his ignorance.

Yusuf himself doesn’t seem particularly bothered, though the way he’s blinking at Nicky in surprise puts him on edge. Before he can backtrack, Yusuf grins and begins rifling through the pages. “Give me one moment… There’s one I think you’ll enjoy. Are you familiar with Dickenson?”

“I can’t say that I am.”

The way Yusuf’s eyes light up feels like witnessing a meteor shower. Nicky reminds himself to ask about poetry more often.

“Good. You close your eyes- it’s best to _feel_ the words, in my opinion. Not getting caught up in the complexities of paper and ink.”

Nicky can feel a blush rising on his cheeks as he complies. He has a suspicion that it’s not only the poetry he’s going to be feeling.

His companion clears his throat and begins to speak. His voice goes low as he speaks, deep as roots and twice as ensnared around Nicky’s heart.

“ _If you were coming in the Fall,_

_I'd brush the Summer by_

_With half a smile, and half a spurn,_

_As Housewives do, a Fly._

_If I could see you in a year,_

_I'd wind the months in balls---_

_And put them each in separate Drawers,_

_For fear the numbers fuse---_

_If only Centuries, delayed,_

_I'd count them on my Hand,_

_Subtracting, til my fingers dropped_

_Into Van Dieman's Land,_

_If certain, when this life was out---_

_That yours and mine, should be_

_I'd toss it yonder, like a Rind,_

_And take Eternity---_

_But, now, uncertain of the length_

_Of this, that is between,_

_It goads me, like the Goblin Bee---_

_That will not state--- its sting.”_

There’s a pause after he finishes that Nicky is half-tempted to fill with applause. He finds his body arrested though, by some force he doesn’t know how to name. It grips him in something that should feel constricting, _crushing_ even. But he just feels warm. The sun is in the sky and it’s sat next to him on the grass and he can feel it’s heat without opening his eyes.

The storm breaks on the horizon.

Nicky wants to kiss him.

They don’t sleep across from each other that night. Instead, they lay next to each other under the overhang until the sun slips below the horizon and drags crimson and gold and purple along the sky with it. Enough space remains between them that there is no risk of them touching, but the heat along his side from Yusuf’s body is searing. He hardly sleeps, his eyes staying open to stare up at the stars. He only glances over to watch Yusuf’s sleeping face a few times, when he’s certain the other man won’t wake. If he was hoping to find some imperfection here, there isn’t one to be discovered. Even with the state the both of them are in, Yusuf is radiant. And still, surprisingly, soft. His mouth goes slack when he sleeps, pink lips parting. Nicky has to turn completely away from him just to cease imagining bringing their lips together. 

He eventually falls into a fitful slumber, and each dream he has is plagued by the image of Quynh, begging him to return. 

*

The next morning, Nicky is the second to wake up. Yusuf is the one rocking his shoulder gently, smiling as he does so. It makes his insides warm and turn to mush, and he can hardly even reply when he’s addressed.

“Good morning, Nicky,” Yusuf says softly. “Sleep well?”

He shrugs and licks his sleep-dry and cracking lips. “I think I have slept on softer ground before. But, I am not complaining. Rocks are worse.”

“I would imagine so. I’ve already eaten, you should go grab some breakfast.” Yusuf grimaces down at himself, where the mud has dried and caked into his skin and clothes. “I’m going to bathe. You might want to as well.”

With a pang, Nicky can’t help but imagine a grey-faced Quynh, ashen and close to death. He shakes his head and moves to go saddle Elettra again. “The city is not far now. We can wash after we’ve got the medicine.”

An appraising look sweeps over him. Nicky tries not to squirm under his companions’ evaluating eye.

“They won’t be letting you in anywhere but a pigsty looking like that. Come.”

Yusuf lightly takes his shoulder in a gentle grip and steers him towards the stream. “We won’t take long, I promise.” He adds quietly. He smiles reassuringly, giving Nicky shoulder squeeze.

Nicky takes in a steady breath through his nose. “Alright, but... quickly, please.”

The grin he is rewarded with is almost enough by itself to soothe his fears. “I promise. No peeking, alright?”

And suddenly, Nicky remembers a very good reason why he didn't want to bathe in the stream.

*

The water is biting cold on his body as he steps in, though the bright sun does help warm his shoulders some. His clothes lie on the bank, now rinsed clean in the clear water. He's hoping the rock they’re spread out on will be enough to dry them- only Yusuf had the good sense to bring a spare change of clothes, Nicky notes with embarrassment.

He's trying his best to keep his back turned to Yusuf, who he can hear splashing the water up onto himself with teeth chattering not ten feet away. One might think he would be better denying himself, Nicky muses dryly, given his Catholic upbringing . It is apparently not enough to keep him from sending a lightning fast glance over his shoulder, quick enough to be mistaken for an accident he hopes.

Yusuf is a vision in the sudden light. It seems as though the clouds have parted especially for him, light cascading to fall over his skin. He wears it like one might a cloak, with ownership, purpose.

Nicky's mouth goes dry. Yusuf's back is as well-muscled as it ought to be, given his years of metal work. The man is a work of art, surely more worthy than any sculpture on display strong lines along the spine lead the eye down, further-

He freezes in place. Yusuf has looked over as well, catching his gaze. Terrified it being caught, Nicky's heart hammers in his chest. He's waiting for the anger in Yusuf’s eyes, the disgust. Neither come. Instead Yusuf drags his eyes down Nicky's body in a move that makes him shudder and grins wide and easy- as if any part of the move is _easy_. He can feel his blood rushing southward, can feel his head getting dizzy with the attention. He’s not even sure what Yusuf could be looking at in such a way, with such heat. Like Nicky might be something to be desired, when Yusuf stands with the stream parting around his strong legs like something out of the Parthenon. Nicky imagines he might even have seen the remains of a marble statue with his likeness in the ruins not far from his grandparent’s farm. His lips part to draw in a breath, watching Yusuf slide a hand down his front, as if he might be reaching to grab himself.

Nicky turns back around, face warm enough that he’s certain he could heat the stream itself. He attempts to pretend that he never saw a thing, despite the fact that he can feel a curl of want thrumming in between his thighs.

This is dangerous. This is very, _very_ dangerous. It’s taken Nicky so long just to build himself back up again, to get to a point where he’s felt somewhat human. This, _Yusuf,_ risks throwing all of that off the edge of the mountain. Even worse is how close he is to doing it anyway. It’s been far too long since he’s felt like this- though it’s different from last time, doesn’t threaten to steal all the breath from his chest like Antonio had.

He doesn’t let himself dwell on it much longer. Another second and there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t fall into Yusuf completely.

He finishes washing quickly, scouring the dry mud from his body with his bitten-down nails until his skin glows red and raw. The clothes he discarded on the rock are still slightly damp, but at the very least they’re warm and give him a reason to avoid looking back at the stream. He’s grateful for the coverage as well, for the modesty it allows him to somewhat regain. Nicky had never been one to care much about the state of his own physical appearance, far more focused on functionality. Now he finds himself wondering if there might be something that Yusuf saw there. He couldn’t quite gauge if other people found him attractive- really had no measure for those sorts of things. It’s hard to imagine anything Yusuf might see in him that he hadn’t already seen in a hundred people back in the city, where a man with his sturdy legs was accompanied by a chiseled face and a distinguished last name.

From where she’s grazing at a soft patch of crabgrass, Elettra lifts her head as if she can hear his internal monologue and silences it with a glare like ice. Really he should be put off by her intelligence, the way she seems so in tune with him, but instead he just answers her with a halfhearted smile and resigns himself to pulling his clothes on. Splashing and the sound of water droplets falling on the rocky bank of the stream indicate that Yusuf has stepped out as well, is probably stepping into fresh clothes. Nicky doesn’t let himself turn and look, but the burning on the back of his neck implies that Yusuf’s gaze is still on him, watching. He pulls his shirt up and over his head, and begins to erase the signs of their camp while readying Elettra to depart.

“You do that every time.”

Nicky turns his head to see Yusuf doing up the buttons on his linen shirt, dark curls still damp and shining like he’s got a gem-studded crown buried amongst them, the way the sun hits the drops of water.

Yusuf indicates the brush in his hand with a nod of his head. “Every time. Before we leave and when we bed for the night, you always groom her for nearly half an hour. Why? I didn’t think her coat was so thick she needed it.”

Elettra blows out her lips at the implication that her ritual is anything less than absolutely vital, but Nicky just lays a hand down on her neck and shrugs, focusing his eyes on where Yusuf’s pulling on his boots rather than look him in the eye.

“Elettra has been with me for a long time,” Nicky says after a moment. “It’s my way of thanking her for getting me this far.”

A bright smile lights Yusuf’s face, pulling up those crinkles in the corners of his eyes. “ I am glad you have at least one friend, then. I was a bit worried, given your somewhat impressive figure, that you might be a bit lonely. I see I had nothing to worry about.”

“I’ll have you know I have the perfect number of friends,” Nicky snorts, though there’s a mirth playing on his voice he doesn’t quite recognize in himself. “Andy and Quynh, for starters.”

“Is she not your landlord?”

“She was my friend first.”

“Doesn’t count. Next?”

He scoffs. “Booker.”

“Too French, sorry.”

“Booker is too _French_ to be my friend?”

Yusuf splays his hands in mock apology, chuckling. “I’m afraid so. You’re Italian, he’s French. It’s all very Shakespearian, you know.”

“Miriam.”

“Ah, but a good business woman always knows to make relationships with her customers. You’re a regular- it only makes sense.”

Nicky narrows his eyes and tries to appear stern and menacing, but he can tell by the way Yusuf starts to laugh that it doesn’t succeed. “You.”

A crawling look of incredulity spreads over the other man’s face. Nicky’s waiting for the joking rebuttal there, too, waiting for this game of theirs to continue. Instead, Yusuf takes a step forward and shakes his head.

“Well, yes.” Yusuf says quietly. “I suppose.”

“Really? How can I be so sure, when you yourself tell me that everyone else holds my attention for other reasons?”

He places a hand over his own heart, eyes breathtakingly sincere. “I swear, with every bone in my body, that I am your friend, Nicky di Genova. Truly.”

There are no words that Nicky can say that feel adequate- he suddenly wishes that he was better with turn of phrase, so that he might string together something worthy of Yusuf’s declaration. Instead, he offers Yusuf a smile and turns back towards Elettra.

“We should get going. If the path has dried out, we should be in town by sundown.”

He can hear Yusuf move, boots scuffing in the grass behind him, and for a moment Nicky allows himself to relax his posture, staring down at Elettra’s flank with his mind running all the way to Genoa and back in the space of seconds. Suddenly Yusuf is at his side again, grinning like mad.

“Nicky?

“Hm?”

“You never said if you were _my_ friend.”

He swallows. Nicky is almost entirely certain that Yusuf is trying to kill him, somehow. If not from sheer heart attack alone, perhaps his mind would finally burst into flames at the sight of the little bit of collarbone peeking out from his shirt.

“You’re my friend,” Nicky says, tongue dry as sand. “But you will not be if you aren’t ready to go in the next ten minutes.”

Yusuf chuckles and walks towards Baki, whispering something Nicky doesn’t pick up on. He heaves against Elettra’s side. His heart aches, deep and rich and painful and _delectable._

“What on earth am I going to do with him?” Nicky whispers to her.

Elettra brays. Nicky is bound to agree with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem that Yusuf reads is "If you were coming in the fall" by Emily Dickenson


	6. Intersection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very long chapter ahead yall,,, you’ve been warned

_**October 1870** _

The next few days of travel pass by quickly. While Nicky is by no means an adept conversationalist, he at the very least humors Yusuf by swapping stories of children’s tales. The declining side of the mountain range is not quite so steep and they’re able to take the main road out, meaning it’s much easier to maneuver. Yusuf and Nicky finally manage to take rotating shift, though Yusuf can’t help but feel terrible every time Nicky offers to take the early watch the next morning. It certainly doesn’t do the bags under his eyes any favors. Another day in is all it takes for Yusuf to know that he needs to be _very_ careful, because there’s a very real chance that there simply won’t be any going back from this feeling that’s swelling in his heart.

Thankfully, they hit the city in only another two days.

Boise is not a city like Yusuf expected. He had seen St. Louis, and London, and New York, had grown up in Tunis. They had all been great sprawling places with years of accumulated history building up in the grime of their cobbled streets, blood worked into the dirt beneath. More dead residing in their cemeteries then there were people living in the city proper just with the sheer longevity of the place.

Boise is nothing like that.

Where the cities Yusuf knew had been cramped, the buildings packed shoulder to shoulder as reluctant siblings nearly all the way to the city limits, this place allowed for breath in between. It was nearly unnerving to him, the wide berth of the main streets. In fact, he hardly thought it deserved to be deemed a proper “city” at all. It barely had packed-dirt roads and posts to tie carts and horses- it didn’t look a cent like the metropolis he’d imagined it to be based on Nicky’s description.

He allows Nicky to take the lead through the streets, squinting down at the directions Nile had scribbled down in her neat, cramped handwriting on the paper she’d pushed into his hands. He scowls between it and the pedestrians that walk into their path, only narrowly avoiding getting trampled beneath Elettra’s hoof. Gauging by the noise she makes, that wouldn’t be entirely unreasonable to her. Yusuf tries to send those few on the receiving end an apologetic smile, but his companions’ muttered cursing in Italian severely undercut his efforts. Still, he can’t help the fond little expression that slips across his face watching Nicky navigate, looking quite a lot like a disgruntled cat. Yusuf thinks it terribly amusing.

They come to a stop outside a nondescript apothecary with little more than a sign outside with peeling red paint to advertise its services. Nicky glances between the squat building and the paper in his hands a few times, as if he can’t actually believe that this is the place they’re meant to stop.

“Is this it?” Yusuf asks, lifting his hand against the sun to get a proper look.

The building isn’t of a poor quality or run down by any means. The wooden boards look cared for and free of any kind of rot the cold might have brought in and the roof is whole. It is just unusually plain for a place of business. There are only a scant few windows to be seen and none open to the street. The double front doors, however, are wide open, though there’s little that can be seen of the dark shop inside from their position.

Nicky lets out an annoyed little huff- a sound that is mirrored mere seconds afterwards by Elettra. Yusuf feels a grin spread over his face.

“According to Nile’s directions, yes.” Nicky says distractedly. “But it’s… It does not look like much, no?”

“No, it does not. Could she have been mistaken?”

“Perhaps. But as neither of us are familiar with this city and this is our only good place to start…”

“We might as well give it a try?”

Nicky nods. “We might as well.”

He dismounts in a singular fluid motion, tying Elettra’s reins to the post just off the side to the door. Yusuf attempts to do the same, but his left ankle buckles beneath him as he slides down and he has to catch himself on Baki’s flank just to avoid ending up with a face full of dirt. Luckily, Nicky doesn’t seem to notice, already stepping through the threshold of the shop. Yusuf scrambles to tether Baki next to Elettra, giving him a few comforting pats before snagging his satchel from its place on his saddle and jogging a little to catch up.

The inside of the shop is thick with the smell of different herbal remedies, a shocking wall of aroma that both reminds him of visiting his cousin Ibrahim’s medical practice back in Tunis and the awful concoction of spices and teas that his grandmother used to force into him when he’d had a fever as a boy. He wrinkles his nose up and does his best to breathe through his mouth.

Nicky doesn’t seem to be overly fond of the interior himself, looking at the different contraptions that he assumed were for chemistry that occupy the small shop and the many small rows of reagents with a deep frown. In the shadow of the dim lamplight, Yusuf can see a bit of the menacing figure Nicky is supposed to be. He can’t help it, though, if every time he looks over at his companion, he sees the thick, muscular thighs that had been on display in the stream.

Nicky clears his throat and knocks loudly on the hardwood counter, effectively drawing Yusuf out of his vision and back into the present (though he elects to attempt drawing the dramatic line of Nicky’s shoulders again sometime later).

“Hello?” A voice calls from a back room behind the counter, hidden behind a dusty blue curtain that’s hung in the doorway. “If that’s you Jay, I _told_ you that I’m not going drinking with you tonight. I think I’m still hungover from last week.”

Yusuf and Nicky share an awkward smile.

“Ah, no. Sorry.” Yusuf says politely, trying and failing to get a view behind the curtain, craning his neck. “Just customers.”

There’s a sound of a drawer or cabinet swiftly slamming shut and boots hitting the floor, as though they’d been reclined up on a desk. The curtain is caught in a whirl, shoved aside to reveal a woman in a chemist’s long coat, with a pair of protective spectacles balanced on the end of her nose. Her long black hair is arranged in a complex-looking braid off of one shoulder, and her eyes watch the both of them with suspicion. If Yusuf is correct in remembering his Baba’s teachings on good business, then staring down potential buyers like they might set the building alight with a single misstep was not the proper way to encourage sales.

The woman crosses her arms sternly, taking in their likely travel-weary faces. “Can I help you gentlemen with something?”

Nicky holds up the letter and sets it down on the counter, sliding it towards her. “Nile Freeman sent us. She said to ask for, ah- Dizzy?”

The woman’s gaze flicks from the parchment up towards him in surprise. Her expression softens, a look that speaks of a familiarity Yusuf knows well enough to recognize.

“Nile? She… How is she?”

“She’s doing great. She keeps all of us alive.” Nicky says, with no small amount of pride in his voice. “I have not met a better physician.”

She scoffs and snatches the letter, eyes darting back and forth as she reads. When she finishes, she sets it down with a sigh.

“Well, you came to the right place. I’m Dizzy.” She does not extend her hand to shake, and neither of them attempt to reach out and try for it. Somehow, Yusuf knows she would just ignore them. “But I’m afraid you came at the wrong time. I sold my last case of the medication off to the general store the next street over yesterday.”

Nicky’s jaw sets in a firm line that Yusuf is beginning to recognize as panic.

“How quickly can you make more?”

Dizzy shrugs one shoulder apologetically, passing the letter back to them. “A week or two at least, just to get the compounds ordered and shipped in.”

The line of Nicky’s shoulders positively drops, his whole body slumping in on itself as if the gravity holding him together had been stolen. Yusuf wants more than anything to step into his space, to relieve Atlas of his world’s weight for just a moment if it means he’ll stop looking like that. He does not, but instead takes over the conversation, seeing that his companion’s eyes have gone a bit distant.

“How much did you sell that bottle for?” Yusuf asks, slipping back into the comfortable coat of a merchant’s demeanor. “Surely, if it has not already been sold from them, we could place our own bid on it?”

There’s a pause, a breath in which Dizzy’s eyebrows furrow together. “Yes, I suppose so. I have yet to deliver the case. You could buy it at a higher price so that I have reason to give it to you without the store owner chasing me out of town for going back on a deal. It won’t be cheap, though.”

“How much?”

Nicky’s eyes are blazing, fingers curled around the edge of the counter and going white-knuckled. It’s the kind of look that has Yusuf convinced that Nicky could accomplish anything through sheer determination and willpower alone. As long as his mind was set on it, Nicky could move mountains. Pebble by pebble.

Dizzy winces. “Thirty.”

Even Yusuf blanches at the price. He has a decent amount saved up- a few hundred dollars, most from his wages in New York, some a gift from his family when he’d left London that he’d carefully tucked away. He didn’t know much about Nicky’s accounts, but he could surmise by his humble lodgings on Andy’s ranch and Miriam’s words on their seemingly inevitable debt piling up, that it was an absurd number to him as well.

“ _Thirty?_ ” Yusuf exclaims. “You must be joking.”

“Look, the compounds are expensive and difficult to come by. Plus you’re buying the store owner out above market price. I’m sorry, but it’s the best I can do.”

Nicky nods curtly. Then, he promptly turns on his heel and marches back outside. Yusuf can only watch him go with slack-mouthed surprise at his exit. Before he can think to run after, Nicky reenters with a handful of bank notes that he must have pulled from his saddlebag and lays them down on the counter. His eyes are steady, but Yusuf can see by the way he leans on his arms that he’s shaking.

“Twenty.” Nicky grits out, voice wavering. “It’s all I have.”

Dizzy opens her mouth to speak, but Yusuf begins to rifle through his satchel before she can say a word and pulls out the few bills he’d tucked away in there in case of emergency. He sets down a total of $15 and slides one of Nicky’s notes back to him.

“There. We’ll split it. I trust we’re in agreement then?”

Yusuf can see Nicky staring at him out of the corner of his vision. He offers a half shrug to his companion, grinning. “I told you I’d help get the medicine, didn’t I?”

His head dips, lips pursed. Dizzy collects their money and smiles sadly. “Yeah, we’re good. Give me a minute to get my ledger together and bring it out.”

With that, she disappears back behind the curtain, leaving them in the quiet of the sop. The array of smells had calmed now; Yusuf inhales slowly through his nose and tucks the rest of his money back into his bag. Nicky’s eyes have not left him for a moment, his intense gaze boring a hole into the side of his head.

Yusuf clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I just figured-“

And, before he can finish, Nicky has pulled him into a crushing hug. For a moment, he’s far too stunned to react beyond a surprised yelp. Luckily, it does not deter Nicky from his embrace, and it allows Yusuf the chance to lock his arms around his companion in turn and smooth his hands up his back, feeling the tension release in the muscles beneath. His head ducks against Nicky’s shoulder. He still smells like the mountain stream, and sweat, and the worn leather of his saddle. In combination with the cacophony of smells in the shop, it should probably be repulsive. Yusuf buries his nose close to Nicky’s skin, just at the junction of his neck and shoulder, and inhales, allowing himself to enjoy the indulgence of Nicky’s embrace.

“Thank you.”

It’s a quiet thing, mumbled against the fabric of Yusuf’s shirt, but there’s a magnanimity to the words that feels like a wave crashing over him. He tightens his grip ever so slightly around him.

 _Oh, God._ Yusuf thinks. _I don’t want to let him go._

“You’re welcome, Nicky.” He laughs lightly, like his chest isn’t constricting in on itself. “Though you will absolutely be helping me in the forge when we return.”

Nicky pulls his face away from Yusuf’s shoulder, a nearly unreadable expression crossing it. His features are all drawn together, like he’s pondering an equation he’s yet to find the solution for. If Yusuf didn’t know any better, he might have thought the other man was in pain. But, simply because he _does_ know Nicky better (or so he’d like to believe), he can see the flickerings of gratitude shining in his eyes. There was this odd little lilt to his mouth, though, an expression he’s yet to see on the other man. He’s not quite sure how to interpret it, but it makes him want to do something terribly reckless like press their lips together.

In fact, for that split second, Nicky leans in and Yusuf is almost certain that that’s precisely what he’s going to do. His head is pounding in his ears, drowning out the voice in his head reminding him of the litany of reasons this is a bad idea, why this can never happen. Instead, his mind roars with Nicky, Nicky, Nicky, Nicky- his name on his tongue and the divots of his ribs beneath Yusuf’s fingertips and those bottomless eyes that seem to consume any semblance of stability in the hurricane sweeping him along. His entire being feels right. It feels like he needs to be closer, to close the space between them in every way possible.

Nicky opens his mouth to speak. His voice is a dry rasp shadow of it’s normal self but the timbre still sends a shiver all the way down Yusuf’s spine and into the balls of his feet.

“Yusuf…” He is breathless, and breathtaking. It could perhaps be the hopeless romantic in him, but he imagines that Nicky has never been more attractive than when being held.

Before Nicky gets the chance to finish his thought, Dizzy reenters the room carrying a small wooden crate, only about a foot long with a large glass bottle filled with a color Yusuf artistically calls _‘murky’,_ as well as a view smaller stoppered vials containing a thick substance that clings to the walls of the glass as it slips down the side.

“Alright,” the chemist says, looking over the contents of the box. She points to the one large bottle. “Give the patient two spoonfulls of that with every meal. If they start losing their appetite, stop immediately.”

Nicky extricates himself from Yusuf’s embrace quickly, running a hand down his front as if to smooth over his clothes and settle himself. “What do we do if she stops eating?”

“Pray that the illness takes her quickly.”

Yusuf, unwilling to allow the frown that’s found its place back on Nicky’s face reside any longer than absolutely necessary, changes the subject by pointing to one of the smaller vials.

“What are these?” He asks, lifting one curiously.

“Ah,” Dizzy grins. “Consider it an apology for not getting you a better deal. I’m sure Nile would march down here herself if I didn’t throw in at least a little something extra for you both, especially after coming all this way. This one is lavender oil, the other is rosehip. They’re fantastic muscle relaxers, especially if you take the time to fully work them into the skin.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “And this third one?”

Her smile turns wicked as she glances between the two of them. “That one... eases the way for certain activities.”

It’s slightly embarrassing, and Yusuf blames it on his poor quality of sleep over the last few days, but it takes him a few minutes to piece together her meaning. When he finally does, he can feel his whole face growing hot.

“Oh. _Oh.”_ Yusuf’s words come out mostly stuttered. He can’t bring himself to look over at Nicky’s face. He can barely tear his eyes from the crate in front of them. He is suddenly realizing that, to an outside eye, their closeness and general camaraderie for each other might have been interpreted as something far more romantic (something far more _reciprocated)_. He can’t help but blanch at the thought, waiting for Nicky’s vehement dismissal of their need.

“Thank you. The thought is appreciated.” Yusuf’s gaze snaps up to Nicky, just to watch him take one of Dizzy’s hands in both of his own, shaking it firmly before collecting the crate. “We should be off now- the sooner we can start back up north the better.”

His words are so nonchalant that Yusuf almost wants to pretend that this _is_ the normal for them. If he were particularly sly, he might manage to take that crate from Nicky with a soft smile and imagine that when they go back to Three Forks, it’ll be to the same room.

Unfortunately, Nicky is a man on a mission and any sort of suave composure Yusuf could have managed flies out the door in time with Nicky’s hurried steps to get back to Elettra. He thanks Dizzy again, promising to send her best wishes to Nile when they return north, and jogs after his companion.

“Nicky, hold on.” Yusuf says, watching the man begin to untie Elettra’s reins with a fervor. “You’re planning on getting back on the road _now?”_

He checks one of the stirrups on the saddle, replying without turning around. “There isn’t time to waste.”

“We got here a day early. Besides, it’s already late in the afternoon. We should find a place to spend the night and have a decent meal.” Yusuf cuts him off when Nicky opens his mouth to argue. “We will head out first thing tomorrow morning. But we’ll be in better shape to travel if we’ve had a good night’s rest. I’m sure the horses would thank us for it too.”

Nicky looks to Elettra, cocking his head as if he were asking her opinion. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t answer beyond shifting her weight between her legs and craning her neck to snuffle around his shoulder for affections. He pets his hand down her neck and sighs. “Alright. But we leave early tomorrow.”

Yusuf chuckles. It’s a reluctant concession, but he’ll take it. He pats Nicky’s shoulder and prays that he miraculously didn’t catch Dizzy’s insinuation. “My friend, never before in my life have I heard a man so disappointed to be sleeping in a bed.”

A small grin sneaks its way onto Nicky’s face. “Perhaps it’s not the idea of a _bed_ I’m opposed to, Yusuf. Are you aware that you snore?”

“I do not! You wound me, Nicky.”

“It’s true. I think you scared the buzzards away from their dinner.”

Yusuf rolls his eyes. “Could you be confusing it for your smell? The road has done you no favors.”

“You have not complained.” Nicky says bluntly, keeping his eyes on the street ahead as they begin to walk.

“No. Well,” He swallows. _I wouldn’t complain as long as you were with me._ “ I suppose I’ve gotten used to it.”

Nicky knocks their shoulders together amicably. “Good. I would have hated to scare you off.”

“It’s going to take more than your stench to drive me away Nicky.” Yusuf proclaims earnestly. “Unfortunately, I quite like your company. And we do have another few days’ worth of travel that I would prefer not to take alone.”

“Hm. I suppose.” They are both quiet for a time, retreating into themselves. Then, “Yusuf?”

“Hm?”

“Have you actually _seen_ an inn since we came into town?”

*

By the time they manage to find a place to spend the night (after about an hour of Yusuf directing them in circles, much to his chagrin), the sun has begun to slip down on the horizon, draped lazily over the backs of the mountains that bracket the small city. It’s more than obvious that Nicky is anxious to be on the road, He worries his lower lip with his teeth and scrunches his face all together, creating an expression that comes off as generally unapproachable. It’s why, when they finally come across an inn with a stable around the back for their horses, Yusuf volunteers himself to go talk to the innkeeper. That, and he’s the only one out of the both of them with funds enough to pay for their lodgings.

It turns out to be a blessing, asking Nicky to wait outside, because it means that Yusuf is then able to process the information in his own sweet time and without watching eyes that there is only one room available for the night. And this room happens to be a single, meaning one bed.

He gapes, fish-mouthed at the innkeeper before nodding his assent and passing a few dollars over the counter, fingers numb. Yusuf is silently cursing the universe and it’s apparent plans to put him in increasingly embarrassing situations around Nicky as he listens to the innkeeper tell him where to leave the horses and passes the wrought iron key over to him. He sets his jaw and reminds the universe (and himself) not terribly kindly that Yusuf just so happens to be _engaged_ , and that Nicky has hardly seemed to reciprocate his affections to the same level of ardor. A few shared glances perhaps, but anything more… well, it seemed hard enough to read Nicky already. Discovering the intricacies of his romantic feelings was nearly unthinkable.

The sight of Nicky waiting idly for him out front is enough to both quiet his mind and send it spiraling anew with a fresh monologue about the way his skin catches the dying orange glow of the sunset. He’s adopted a truly sour little frown, down turning the mole to the side of his mouth and holding the wooden crate close to his chest. He glowers at every person that passes near enough as if they might try to take it from him. Yusuf would almost welcome them to try, given Nicky’s display with the bandits. It’s an entirely unsavory picture and manages to deter all but Yusuf from drawing nearer.

“We have a room,” He declares. “And space for the horses to rest.”

He neglects to mention the bed situation, because he’s not certain it won’t come out like he’s insinuating or propositioning the other man and he doesn’t have the energy left to think on it for more than a split second. For the time being, he’s just trying to look forward to sleeping on a surface that isn’t rocks and dirt- his spine will certainly thank him for it.

Nicky nods resolutely. He’s far too endearing, the way he sticks to Elettra’s side and clings to her reins like a child might a treasured doll. “Lead the way.”

When they arrive at the stables, Nicky parts with Elettra, albeit with another deep frown and a kiss pressed to her muzzle- pared, of course, with a small goodbye in Italian and a promise to return in the morning. He locks the stablehand with a glare as they exit, instilling the fear of God in him when he asks if they’d like feed for their mounts as if it were not a given. Yusuf gathers his things and gives Baki a parting peck. He pulls a penny from his pocket and presses it into the poor boy’s fingers for the trouble. Begrudgingly, Nicky allows Yusuf to take his own small bag off of his shoulders and herd him inside and up the stairs. He cages the medicine in his arms, ensuring no one bumps into it as they make their way up to their room.

It doesn’t seem like Nicky fully registers the single bed when they get into the room. He makes for the small writing desk in the corner and sets the crate and it’s clinking vials well within sight, far from the edge. Yusuf quietly lights and raises the shutters on the oil lamps provided for them, illuminating the room in a pleasant warm glow. The heat from the day hasn’t managed to creep in, meaning it’s pleasantly cool. It does nothing to dissipate the flush on the back of Yusuf’s neck, however, as he stands in the center of the room, awkwardly shifting on the balls of his feet after depositing their things at the foot of the bed.

In fact, it’s not until Nicky seems assuaged that the medicine isn’t going to up and walk away and the curtains are drawn that he even senses something is amiss. He turns to Yusuf slowly, opening his mouth to say something. Then, apparently sensing his discomfort, he cocks his head in that strange birdlike way of his, and Yusuf can detect the exact moment that his eyes finally drift to the bed, connecting the dots.

“This was the only one available,” Yusuf offers lamely. “I’m… I’m sorry,”

His companion has gone stiff, fingers balled up at his side. Yusuf can’t tell if he’s angry or not- it seems that for the moment Nicky’s retreated back into himself.

“It’s fine,” Nicky says. “I will take the floor.”

The very thought has Yusuf’s back aching in sympathy. “It’s a large bed. We could share,” He smiles, though it feels like a poor offering. He hopes it seems genuine behind the nerves. “I promise not to steal the covers.”

“I wouldn’t- I would not like to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable? Nicky, the thought of you spending the night laying on the floor while there is a perfectly available bed makes me _uncomfortable_. Please,” He says. “Am I so horrible a travelling companion that the thought of sleeping with me sends you running?”

Yusuf’s eyes widen in horror. “Not- No, not _sleeping_ with, sleeping with. I just meant-“

“No.” Nicky’s response is lightning fast and matter of fact, like saying it is the simplest thing in the world. “You’re not a bad travelling companion,” Nicky tacks on.

“Then share the bed, Nicky. Please.” He pleads, pointedly ignoring how different those words might be in a different setting.

Nicky hesitates a moment longer, glancing to the door behind Yusuf’s shoulder as if he might try to bolt at the first sign of trouble. When Yusuf doesn’t make a move towards him, or say anything to backtrack, he relaxes just enough to give a small, jerky nod of his head in assent. Yusuf grins as brightly as he can, face warming with the trust placed in him.

“Thank you.” He counts the bills in his pocket, then looks up to evaluate Nicky’s stiff posture with a chuckle. The resulting blush on Nicky’s cheeks does not go unnoticed. “You may as well get settled. I’m going to find something for us to eat.”

He takes a step forward, eyebrows twisting together. “I can-“

“ _Nicky._ Sit. _Rest,_ please. Let me take care of you.”

It comes out far more tender than he intends, though it’s accurate. It’s clear by the shadows clinging beneath Nicky’s eyes and the gaunt appearance of his face that he’s worried and worked himself ragged. Yusuf probably doesn’t look much better, but he’s getting the idea that nobody has truly looked after or cared for Nicky in a long time (or he hasn’t let them, at least). If the opportunity to allow Nicky to let his guard down, even if it’s just for the moment, is afforded to him, he fully intends to take it.

Thankfully, the other man doesn’t put up much of a fight. “If you keep doing things to keep me in your debt, I might be working in the forge with you until I’m grey.” Nicky’s voice is oddly timid, but the way his lips curl just at the corners in that secret smile betrays his mirth.

“If you think I’m going to object, you’ll be heavily disappointed.” Yusuf says cheerily. “I think you’ll find that I’ve grown quite attached to you.” He motions to the bed and the rest of the room. “You might as well make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Yusuf grins back at Nicky before slipping out the door and shutting it behind him. His heart pounds so hard he has to catch his breath. Exhaustion tugs at his limbs, though it is with no small amount of dread that he realizes that he won’t be able to sleep all that much tonight.

*

Yusuf returns some time later, knocking on the door to their room with the toe of his boot. His hands are occupied with bowls of steaming soup for the both of them. It’s a simple meal, comprised of potatoes and carrots and the vegetables of the season, but the smell is heavenly, and Yusuf’s stomach is clamoring for a meal that isn’t dried jerky and hard tack. The thirty seconds between when he knocks and Nicky answers the door also allows him to try and mentally fortify himself for the evening (not that he _hadn’t_ been doing that for the entire duration of bringing their food up from the kitchen. He’s just hoping that those extra few moments are enough to steel his resolve.

Shockingly, thirty seconds isn’t enough.)

Nicky opens the door cautiously at first, only cracking it wide enough to show one stormy blue-green eye and a sliver of his shoulder. When he realizes that it’s Yusuf, he pulls the door the rest of the way open and grins at him softly. It’s familiar in a way that has him worried his legs will give out.

They eat in relative silence on the bed, both enjoying having proper, warm food in their bellies for the first time in what seems like a lifetime. There’s a comfortable space between them, and the stuffed mattress is large enough that they can both lean against the headboard without bumping elbows. Yusuf chooses to see this as a blessing, with Nicky thankfully out of his field of vision. Afterwards he collects both of their empty dishes and sets them on the nightstand, the tinny sounds of spoons and bowls clinking together nearly deafening in the quiet.

He can remember, as a child, being asked to sit in his father’s office and read quietly while he balanced the account books. And, though he’d always been quite an avid reader and a dutiful student, he still felt like the silence would drive him mad. The way each minute sound magnified until it was grating against his ears, the way each turn of a page made him shudder. Age hadn’t dulled the sensation one bit- he still feels deeply at unease in the oppressive silence. Though, perhaps in this scenario, his restlessness comes more from the man beside him than from the lack of sound.

“It will still be a few hours before we can sleep properly,” Yusuf says, cringing at himself and his poor attempt to make conversation. Nicky hums back noncommittally, staring down at his hand, and for a few horrifying seconds Yusuf is sure that’s all he’ll say. He does continue, to Yusuf’s relief, although his voice is so quiet he’s nearly inaudible.

“Would you read to me?” Nicky asks softly, _shyly._ As if he’s afraid Yusuf will mock him for such a request. “You have a nice voice.”

The heat on the back of his neck spreads to his face, his chest, down to the tips of his fingers. His tongue feels caught up in the cartwheel his stomach does and only allows him to reply with a short smile and a stuttered assent. He scrambles to his feet and over to his bag at the end of the bed, very pointedly not look up at Nicky. He pulls the notebook out and situates himself back on the bed in a way that tries to be suave, clearing his throat and thumbing through the pages.

A single, spared glance up at Nicky shows that the other man has rid himself of his suspenders and his socks, somehow still looking like he’s carved out of stone laying amongst the pillows. His face, however, and his shaggy hair have taken on a softer quality that Yusuf hadn’t seen on the road, or even back in Three Forks.

“Do you have any requests?”

Nicky shakes his head first, then closes his eyes and thunks it back against the headboard. “I liked what you read me before- the… the Dickenson.”

“Yes! I’m glad you enjoyed her work.” Yusuf says with a pleased grin. “You like love poetry, then?”

That has the other man’s eyes snapping open, looking at him like he’s just seen a murder. “Oh- well, yes, I do, but.” He sighs through his nose. “Yes, I like love poetry. Or, I do when you read it. You make it seem real.”

“You think love isn’t real?”

“Not like how it’s written.” He shrugs. “It’s difficult, and messy, and more often than not ends as a tragedy.”

The universe (and Yusuf’s big mouth) have not yet decided to stop embarrassing him, it seems.

Yusuf turns to look at him. “Have you ever been in love? Truly?”

He’s expecting his question to go unanswered. It _should_ go unanswered. By all rights, Nicky doesn’t owe him that information, or anything else for that matter. They’ve known each other for a little over a month, and much of that had been from the steady yet distant work at the forge. He’s about ready to tell Nicky to pay him no mind, to backtrack and pray that the man still wants to be around him afterwards.

“Yes. I was.” Nicky says. He toys with the loose ends of the kerchief around his neck. “I thought I was. It’s… It is a long story.”

“I am more than happy to listen, if you’re willing to tell it.”

There’s a moment of clear internal debate before Nicky rearranges himself to sit more comfortably.

“When my family came over from Italy, we were not the only ones. We had sailed with a few other families. There were the ah- the Ricci’s, who had an older girl that my sisters were friends with. The Romano family made port with us, but I haven’t seen them since. And then there were the De Luca’s. Antonio was their oldest. They settled in Virginia with us, so our families were quite close. I…”

Nicky chuckles, though it’s a strange and twisted sound. “I thought he was kind, and he listened to me talk. It really didn’t take much more than that. A few nice words and I was smitten. It didn’t help that he worked on the same estate my father did. We would get in all kinds of trouble, sneaking away at night. We’d go and sit by the stream and listen to the cicadas, throw stones across the water. Other things, too, if we thought we wouldn’t get caught.”

At that, he coughs down into his chest to try and hide the blush spreading up to the tips of his ears.

“Well. As children do, we grew up. I honestly thought Antonio and I would get married someday. Perhaps we would have. I don’t know.” His face darkens. “And then the war started. I chose to go north. I knew what I was doing and what I was fighting for. My family… weren’t pleased. My younger brother signed on as well, though he joined with the south, even as young as he was. They blamed me for that. And Antonio…”

He has to take a deep breath to collect himself. Yusuf feels almost perverse, watching this, like he’s witnessing Nicky flay himself open. He cannot look away for even a moment. 

“Antonio was never a fighter. Witty, and a troublemaker, yes. But not a fighter. Still, his family thought themselves _patriots._ They wanted him to go join with the south as well.”

Nicky pauses, his jaw working and flexing. When he doesn’t continue, Yusuf presses a little further- though he’s almost sure he knows what the answer will be.

“Did he?”

A somber nod is enough for him to understand the tension in Nicky’s body. “He did. Even knowing we would be fighting on opposite sides, he did. He reasoned that it would be unlikely that we’d ever meet in battle. And I- I was still so drawn into him that I believed it. And we didn’t, for a long time. I thought that we might actually make it through the war. It didn’t matter what broken state the country might be in when it was all over, as long as we were both alive.

“It was summer, towards the end of the war. I was… I don’t even remember where, truthfully. I remember us setting up camp, preparing our firing lines. And he was there. “ Nicky’s breath shudders, gaze gone somewhere distant. “Once the lines were close enough to get to one-on-one combat, I went and found him. But he’d changed, in the months since we’d seen each other. He’d started to actually adopt their cause. I tried to convince him to run away, abandon the fight so that I could go with him. He refused.”

“First we were just talking. Then we were yelling. And then we were fighting, drawing blood. Antonio got in a few good hits.” His fingers come up to trail over the scar beneath his eye. “But, as I said, he was never a fighter. I… won. If you can call it that. Bleeding out, but I was alive. I didn’t learn until much later that my brother had died in the same skirmish. I left that field praying to God I’d join them both.”

His face suddenly brightens, eyes glimmering. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s unbearably fond. “I was dying on a bank, ready to give in to whatever the saints had in store for me, when I look up and suddenly there’s a horse above me trying to eat my hair.”

Yusuf grins. “Elettra?”

“The one and only. I think she must have belonged to one of the commanders that fell in battle. She had all of her tack on, still. The memories get a bit hazy here, but I remember her being so annoying that I climbed up on her just to get some rest.” Nicky snorts. “She brought me to a town where I got patched up. Then I just let her wander. Eventually she brought me to Three Forks. I think we both forgot to leave.”

The room is once again plunged into silence, only this time it’s due to Yusuf’s head reeling too much to answer. His first reaction is understanding, finally connecting the dots between Nicky’s rather reserved nature and his seclusion. The next to come is anger. Nicky deserved someone _so_ much better. A man who would choose him first, over any family demand.

The irony of that is, of course, not lost on him.

“Nicky,” Yusuf trails off, the words just beyond his grasp.

“Like I said. It’s a long story,” Nicky laughs awkwardly. “And a somber one at that. Perhaps not the best way to end the night.”

There’s this barrier that he’s tried to keep up with Nicky (to varying levels of success). Reserving their contact for moments of friendly camaraderie, to save himself as much as Nicky.

That all goes out the door. Because Nicky may deserve more than Yusuf can give him, but right now he’s borne his soul open to the air and the effects of it are still raw on him, clearly. So, he bridges the small gap between them and pulls Nicky into a tight hug. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a thrill to feel how easy Nicky melts into it.

“I’m sorry.” Yusuf whispers. It’s not enough, it doesn’t even begin to touch on how much he wishes he could soothe over old scars until they disappeared. It’s all he has to offer, though.

He can hear Nicky sniff, but he still shrugs around his arms encircling Yusuf’s middle. “It happened. I survived.”

Yusuf pulls back, eyes blazing. “You shouldn’t have had to.” He takes a risk, cursing himself all the while, and brings his hand up to cradle Nicky’s jaw. The palm of his hand rests just so, at the perfect position to stroke his thumb over his scar with a reverence he’s felt for little else. “You deserved so much better than that. You _do_ deserve more.”

The other man’s eyes glaze over. He shakes his head. “I had a choice, and I made it.”

“You fought for what you thought was right. You made the choice not to let him _kill_ you. One that, I have to say, I’m quite fond of.” Yusuf smiles at him, waiting until Nicky finally catches his eye to continue. “Perhaps you have made a wrong choice here or there. But your heart overflows with so much good, my friend, even if you cannot see it.” Nicky fixes him with a doubtful raise of his eyebrows. “How many other men would volunteer to make the journey hundreds of miles south just to retrieve their friend’s medicine? How many others would give every penny they had without a second thought?”

The tip of Nicky’s tongue comes out to wet his lips. His eyes never leave Yusuf’s face for a second, searching over his features. He’s both hopeful and terrified that Nicky finds what he’s looking for.

Nicky’s voice is rough when he speaks. “I think I’m going to sleep early.” It’s not said unkindly, but it bears a sense of finality. He is done talking on the subject.

All Yusuf can do is nod and back up, dropping his hand away from Nicky’s face. His fingertips still burn as he moves up, peeling off his own suspenders and setting about blowing out the lanterns. The rest of his clothes he leaves on, seeing as Nicky doesn’t show any sign of stripping down any more, and the last thing he needs is to go and make him _more_ uncomfortable.

Of course. Of course he’d managed to drive him away, because Yusuf had just encouraged him to spill his life story out for his own pleasure. What did he imagine that it would do, other than satisfy his own curiosity?

Once the last light is blown out and the room is plunged into darkness, Yusuf settles himself at the edge of the bed, working the comforter up and over his shoulder. He can hardly even enjoy having a pillow under his head, with his mind racing a thousand miles a minute with ways he can make it up to Nicky. He’s not certain how long he lays like that for- it seems like an eternity. He tries to keep as still as possible, waiting until he hears Nicky’s breath even out to relax.

“Yusuf?”

He startles, craning his head around to look at Nicky. The other man is on his side facing him, eyes wide and earnest. Yusuf turns his body so that he can look him in the eye. “Yes?”

Then, so softly that it could be a dream, Nicky leans forward. He presses their lips together, though to call it a proper kiss might be an exaggeration. It’s light as a feather, though it lingers long enough that Yusuf is certain he’s not asleep. He wants to drink it in, hold Nicky’s face closer, wrap his arms around his body so that he’ll never pull back. Kissing someone has never felt like a reason for being alive, until he kisses Nicky.

When they do finally part, the barest of smiles is curling Nicky’s lips up. “Thank you, Yusuf.”

“What for?”

“Just. Everything.” Nicky’s eyes widen a fraction. “Though, I didn’t… I didn’t do that because I felt I owed you. I- I needed to.”

This is _wrong._ This is so, so wrong. He can feel the oncoming catastrophe. There is only one way this ends, and it is with the both of them shattered into pieces.

Yusuf kisses him again, mimicking the light touch. “And I did that because I needed to.” They grin at each other like idiots. “Get some sleep, Nicky.”

“Nicolò .”

“Hm?”

“My name,” He offers. “My _full_ name, that is. I felt we finally warranted a proper introduction.”

“Nicolò di Genova.” Yusuf’s hand comes up of his own volition, though it moves slow enough that Nicky could move away if he wanted. He doesn’t, so Yusuf’s hand takes it’s spot back on his jaw. “It suits you. Now, go to bed, _Nicolò_ _di Genova,_ or we’ll both be in a foul mood to travel.”

Nicky leans in and kisses him one more time, like he can’t help himself. Yusuf understands the feeling. “Goodnight, Yusuf.” He settles his head on his pillow, letting his eyes drift shut.

“Goodnight, Nicky.”

Yusuf doesn’t sleep well at all. Though instead of the anxiety he had anticipated, it is because of the guilt that is churning in his gut, paired with the way that his fingers can’t seem to stop tracing his own lips. He can’t tell if he wishes this were all a dream. It doesn’t matter. He’s damned either way.

*

Yusuf wakes the next morning at sunrise, as he is prone to doing when there’s something softer to support his back than gravel. For a long moment, he truly considers going back to bed, but he can hear both the imam and his father’s words in his ear too sharply. He frowns, burying his nose into his pillow and sighing.

Only, it’s not a pillow that his nose is tucked against. When he leans forward, he makes contact with the long length of Nicky’s body and makes the realization that they are pressed against one another. Nicky’s face is hidden somewhere beyond the cresting hill of his shoulder, but Yusuf can feel his steady breathing with the arm that’s thrown over his middle. He can smell him from here too, the wonderful heady scent of leather combined with something so recognizably _Nicky,_ gone all soft with sleep. Their legs are all sorts of tangled beneath the sheets, and he wonders if there’s a scenario where he’ll be able to pull himself out of bed without waking him.

The dread from the night previous resurfaces and crawls its way back into his throat. It tasted like bile and bitter regret.

What is he _doing?_ He is engaged. Charlotte is a perfectly fine woman, a woman his family is expecting him to marry. She deserved better than to have her betrothed run away to the other side of the continent to chase a freedom he’d already lost. She was kind enough, and God knows that she has her own family expectation to bear.

And Nicky. Nicky, certainly deserved so much better, so much more than Yusuf could ever give him. He needed a love that was sturdy, one that would take precedence over everything. All Yusuf could offer him was a time limit- an expiration date. They shouldn’t even have done this. Those small kisses shared in the darkness of their room were more than crossing the line.

But Yusuf doesn’t think he has the energy to let him go. In his mind, he imagines a world where pursuing Nicky was a matter of drive. He’d certainly have said something of his feelings by now- they might have even kissed days ago. In that world, holding Nicky doesn’t make him sick to his stomach. They kiss, and they laugh, and Yusuf reads poetry to him until he falls asleep.

He does not live in that world. He’s holding Nicky anyway, though. Without letting his thoughts consume him more, squeezing his eyes as tightly as he can, Yusuf presses his lips to the back of Nicky’s neck, nearly shuddering with how warm his chest feels. When he parts, he carefully extricates himself from the bed. Getting his legs out from beneath Nicky’s proves to be a challenge, but he manages it with only a small snuffle from the other man, who doesn’t come all the way out of his slumber. Yusuf goes and kneels for his morning prayer, ignoring the creaking in his knees as he does so.

By the time he’s finished, his mind feels calmer, though his stomach has decided to mix his guilt with hunger to create a truly revolting sensation. Rather than try to feed himself- he wont eat more hard tack for as long as he can help it, and the kitchen downstairs wont be open this early- he settles back onto the bed and takes up his journal, fishing out a stick of charcoal from his bag on the way.

He likes the early hours of the morning. Yusuf usually goes back to sleep once he’s done his prayer, but on the rare occasion that sleep does not find him again, he finds himself unusually refreshed. He’s _also_ quite enjoying being able to look at Nicky so openly, and without any fear of being caught.

It strikes him, again, of what a graceful figure Nicky presents. Perhaps not in the heart of town attempting to weave his way through pedestrians- he wasn’t made for that sort of environment. But in the wilds, and in the quiet of their room, he is the most beautiful sight Yusuf has ever laid his eyes on. His shoulders are a steep slope compared to the dip in his ribcage, the soft line of his hips. If Yusuf cranes his neck, he can see the jut of his nose against the linens. The normal tension he holds himself with has melted entirely. He looks well, and truly, relaxed. Yusuf dedicates the image to paper, as best he can. The finished product is something he’s not entirely happy with, but he suspects it would take him a lifetime to learn how to do Nicky any true justice with a rendering. It’s a valiant attempt though, and he can’t help but look between it and his model with a bit of pride.

By the time he becomes aware of more than just the pages of his notebook, the sun has risen completely in the sky. He looks up to see that Nicky has shifted his position, laying on his back and watching him with a fond smile.

“Good morning, Yusuf.”

“Good morning, Nicky.”

What more could they say? What more could _he_ say? He could apologize, profusely, and explain why they could never repeat last night again- though he’s not sure who he hurts worse with that, after agreeing in the first place. Thankfully, Nicky takes the immediate future out of his hands.

“Were you watching me sleep?” Nicky asks playfully, raising an eyebrow. Yusuf grins.

“I woke for prayer first, but yes. You look good in this light.”

“I feel like a mess. Bedhead?”

Yusuf leans forward, arranging some of the stray hairs that lay around his head back into their proper places. “Nicely tousled, I’d call it.”

Nicky giggles, which is then followed by a little snort that Yusuf simply _has_ to hear again. He tilts his chin up in a silent question, locking his eyes more firmly onto his. When Yusuf doesn’t lean down to meet him, or move much at all beyond playing with the few flyaways still between his fingers, his hand comes up to hold Yusuf’s wrist.

“Will you kiss me again?”

He says it so _earnestly_ , with such shyness like he’s expecting Yusuf to spit in his face. He _should_ say no, but he doesn’t think he could take seeing the look of disappointment he’d get. Besides, he wants to. Yusuf wants to keep kissing him until his lips fall off, and even then he’s try and find a way to get the same message across. He leans down and meets Nicky halfway. Kisses weren’t supposed to feel like a completion, a complete revolving of the sun and moon, so why did his?

They break, and Yusuf’s eyes go wide when Nicky turns his head to lay a kiss on the wrist that he’s still holding. “We should have a proper discussion about this.” Yusuf says kindly.

“Yes. We should.” Nicky cocks his head. “But not right now- if, if that’s alright, of course. I would just like to enjoy things for a moment.”

A moment. Yusuf could do a moment. There’s no guarantee he’ll want to end it any more than he does now when the moment has passed, but he’ll take whatever time he can get.

“Alright. We’ll talk about it later.” He leans down for another kiss, letting this one last as long as he dares before sighing and glancing over at the curtains, lit up from the other side by the daylight. The smells of cooking food have begun to reach them, both of their stomachs rumbling in protest of their neglect. “For now, breakfast.”

Nicky hums, pulling Yusuf to lay heavier on top of him. “In a moment.”

*

They set off not too long after- Nicky was too anxious to get on the road to allow their morning reprieve to go beyond some lazy kisses that felt nearly chaste. A small breakfast of eggs and grits is offered up by the kitchen by the time they have themselves in something resembling order- though Nicky’s lips are red and wet, kiss swollen. With the way Yusuf’s mouth is tingling, he suspects he looks quite the same. In a way, he’s almost a little proud to wear it, to have been granted Nicky’s attention. It puts the roiling in the stomach at bay, for the time being.

Elettra gives a _very_ loud and impassioned sigh when they finally go to collect her and Baki, apparently not impressed with the service she had received for her night’s stay (and likely not all that happy that Nicky hadn’t been around). He only grins at her, stroking down her neck as he saddles her up. He whispers a small hello her way in Italian, telling her how much he missed her. Knowing what he does now, he can see why Nicky loves that horse as much as he does. She’s starting to grow on Yusuf too- though he has no idea what she thinks of him. He makes a mental note to thank her for keeping Nicky safe for so long.

They set down the road in much better spirits than when they left Three Forks, even though Nicky has lost none of his urgency. The medicine is bound in the crate with a spare bit of rope, cushioned around by the extra work shirt Yusuf had packed to lessen the chances of it breaking on the road. He holds it in front of him, a steady hand resting on top of it.

Travelling with Nicky is different, now. He hasn’t suddenly become a skilled conversationalist, and Yusuf has not suddenly lost any qualms he had about the two of them, but it’s comfortable, content silence. It seems the both of them have become more open in their stares. More than a few times, he goes to watch the intent way Nicky surveys the road only to find his eyes already on him.

“What?”

Nicky shrugs, looking back to the scenery around him, the steadily rolling hills building up to the mountains. “Nothing.”

“Don’t do that.” Yusuf pouts. “Come on, out with it. You don’t get to be stoic and enigmatic anymore, I’ve broken into your shell?”

“Is that so? What was I thinking then, if you have ‘broken my shell’?”

He pretends to consider for a long moment, squinting his eyes. “You were thinking about the best way to repair that splintered counter back at the forge, right? That must be it.”

Yusuf gets a snort for his efforts. “More like the man behind it.” Nicky shakes his head. “I keep trying to make sure I didn’t… I don’t know. I thought I’d dreamed it all. And- if you didn’t want to talk about it again, we could leave it there. I won’t say a word to anyone, and it could just be a memory.”

“No.” The speed that Yusuf responds surprises him, but he can hardly stop himself. “I don’t want just that, Nicky. I don’t know what it is about you, but I don’t know if I could stop if I wanted to.”

It’s all the truth. And, by God, he just wants this _one thing._ Yusuf has asked for little else selfishly in life. Moving to New York from London had been his family’s choice, as had taking up blacksmithing, as had moving to Three Forks, and nearly every major turning point in his life. Nicky is the first thing that feels so much further than that. Nicky is so much more than _anything else,_ and it’s terrifying and wonderful and he wants to hang onto him with both hands white-knuckling.

Nicky sighs like he’d been holding his breath. “Good. It’s- yes. It is not just… _that_ for me either, Yusuf. I would like to give this a try.”

He can let himself have this. Just for now. Maybe even longer, if he wants to make that choice. That’s a matter for the future, though.

“I would too, Nicky.”

*

It's not long before they come across a small collection of apple trees in a clearing, still another day’s ride out from the base of the mountain. They’d seen it the way over, but had met it before they could stop. There aren't many of the ripe fruit weighing the boughs down, but it's a nice enough spot with a stream nearby, so they both decide to tie up their horses in the even nicer patch of grass. Nicky is the first over to the nearest tree, eyes lit up with excitement. Yusuf watches him go, smiling all the while. Elettra knickers behind him, probably thankful for the reprieve and curious about the apples hanging lowly nearby.

Nicky eventually selects one of the ripe ones, close enough to reach without climbing. Though, the action stretches his body wonderfully, the loose linen shirt he's wearing riding up enough to show some of the soft flesh at the base of his spine. Despite the autumn breeze, Yusuf suddenly feels hot. Nicky brandishes the apple like a prized thing, turning back to him triumphant. It's hard not to get lost in his eyes, and any part of Yusuf that is able to escape is most certainly sidetracked somewhere around his smile.

"Absolutely perfect." Nicky says proudly. He eyes it for a moment, pretending to gauge it. "It's almost a shame to eat it."

"A shame indeed." Yusuf replies. "Though would it not be a greater one to pick such a fruit and let it rot?"

Nicky stares at him then, eyes wide. If it's possible, his smile cracks open wider. "My dear Yusuf, you are a wise man too. You are right, of course." He takes a bite from the apple, holding eye contact with Yusuf as he does it. Some of the juice collects at the corner of his mouth- he wonders what it would be to flick out his tongue and taste it on Nicky's lips. As if it wasn't a cruel enough sight, he moans a little with delight. "You have to try this one. The truest shame would be for me to keep this to myself."

Yusuf stares at the apple offered to him in his outstretched hand. For a moment, his mind must completely stop working, because before he's entirely aware of it, he's leaning forward, biting down on the fruit offered while still holding his gaze to Nicky's face. Searches the way his smile fades a bit as Nicky's tongue swipes out to finish off the traces of it still lingering on the plush cushion of his bottom lip. A chill runs down his spine with the exchange of glances between them. Both hungry for more than just sweet fruit and a fine autumn morning.

His voice comes out a hoarse whisper. His entire body feels alight. "You were right, Nicky. It's perfect."

Nicky gapes, mouth flapping, suddenly at a loss for words (and _damn_ , if Yusuf isn’t proud to have learned how to fluster him). It seems that his movements are all restricted down to a jerky little nod, mixed with another glance to Yusuf’s lips before leading Elettra away. Yusuf can’t help but chuckle to himself, tying Baki’s lead near the edge of the stream so that he can drink while they stop for the night.

Yusuf goes to recline in the grass, letting the cool air waft across his face with the soft smell of the oncoming fall of leaves and wet dirt washing over him. He finishes another apple by himself, watching Nicky do his usual ritual of taking down all of Elettra’s tack and brushing her down, slipping her a small part of the other fruit he’d taken with a whispered word and a giant grin that’s enough to keep winter at bay for another four months. He stands eventually, strolling up and crossing his arms to evaluate the lines of Nicky’s shoulders at work. If he minds being openly ogled, he doesn’t say it.

“You're different than I thought you'd be."

Nicky doesn't take his gaze away from the mare in front of him, entirely focused on brushing through the short hairs on her flank. Still, he smiles out of the corner of his mouth. "Oh? And how did you think I would be?"

Yusuf considers a moment. "I don't know. Everyone told me you got that scar as some sort of highwayman or otherwise outlaw, that you didn't talk much because you had something to hide."

He laughs at that, cheeks all pinched at the corners like fabric to fit the wide smile on his face. "And? What do you think of me now?" 

_I think I love you._

__

Yusuf swallows. “I think you’re quite possibly one of the most wonderful men I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Skilled on a horse, a lover of poetry and literature- perhaps a bit lacking in _manners,_ while in big cities, but there are worse sins. I’m awfully proud to call you my friend.”

Friend doesn't seem quite the right word for what they are, for the way Yusuf holds him at night and the few brief kisses they've exchanged. _Friend_ doesn't even begin to cut it. However, it's the only one he feels he has the right to use, right now. They haven’t had that conversation just yet. Anything more feels like a step too far, encroaching on a line in the sand he’s drawn. It fumbles from his mouth unprettily, but it does the trick.

Nicky looks at him then, gaze finally torn from his work. If he’s hurt, or otherwise disappointed, he doesn’t make it clear. Instead, he simply searches over his face, lips quirked up in a smile that makes him weak in the knees (though if that’s from Nicky or the endless riding, he can’t quite be sure.

"I am very glad to have met you, Yusuf." Nicky's voice is a somber quiet, a tone that racks across his bones. "I think that I will be grateful for a _very_ long time.”

“I certainly hope so, Nicky.”

Nicky grins and goes back to his task. Yusuf meanders between the trees, grabbing another apple for the two of them to share with the rest of their meal. He pulls out his sketchbook as well, marking the lines of the trees, squinting to try and get the lines right- spending nearly the whole time wishing he’d thought to bring paints on this trip, even if it was a bit silly. The colors of the trees around him were taunting, begging him to spend three or four hours mixing just the right shades to capture the green leaves, transitioning to fiery red. He almost doesn’t register that Nicky’s finished and come to sit beside him until he feels a hand sneaking around his waist, slipping beneath the material of his shirt. Another hand and a set of playful fingers slides up to his chin, lightly drawing his focus to the man beside him. The kiss that Nicky then pulls him into can be called nothing less than _claiming,_ lips sliding together in a messy convergence that has him chasing after Nicky’s mouth when they part. The man _smiles_ , like he knows precisely what he’s doing. 

Allowing Nicky to be cocky will be the death of him. He’s positively enthralled. It also comes to him that this is the first kiss Nicky has not asked for. It was given freely anyway, and he’d give ten thousand more.

“You taste sweet,” Nicky murmurs, eyes still closed and lips still close enough that Yusuf can feel his breath against his face. It’s said without any pretense, shockingly matter-of-fact despite the way it rumbles out of him.

A shudder wracks through him, has him curling his hand into the fabric of Nicky’s shirt. “ _Nicky-“_ He shakes his head in disbelief with a short laugh. “And here I was thinking you’d be shy.”

Nicky’s face goes red, and he ducks down into Yusuf’s shoulder to hide it. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m not complaining. It’s just surprising, I suppose.”

“I have been wanting to kiss you since the moment I met you- or, when we met properly. You’ll have to forgive me if I get a bit ahead of myself.”

“That early?”

He shrugs, turning his face so he’s more fully leaning against Yusuf’s shoulder, looking out at the same trees he’d been sketching just a moment previous. “You caught my eye.”

“Is that so?” Yusuf asks teasingly, setting his notebook to the side. He reaches out and laces their fingers together against the ground, the other staying firmly in Nicky’s shirt. “It should be more than obvious that you caught mine.”

Nicky winces. “The stallion?”

“Yes, the stallion. There I am, just minding my own business, fresh into this strange town, and in rides this strange man who nearly _bowls_ me over-“

“I did not bowl you over,” Nicky says defensively, but there’s a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. “You were standing to the side. I remember it quite well. Your mouth was hanging open.”

“Why you-“

The two of them devolve into a mess of giggles as Yusuf lunges at Nicky, knocking him to the ground and wrestling his arms back. Something dangerous and dark glints behind Nicky’s eyes, and in the next second Yusuf finds himself being flipped entirely around, his back hitting the dirt as his breath is driven from his lungs. Nicky settles himself quite comfortably on top, pinning Yusuf’s hands down with an ease that has a burning streak running through him. Nicky’s grinning like a madman, the sunset hitting him just right to set his eyes aglow.

“Yes, see,” He says quietly, maneuvering both of Yusuf’s wrists into one hand so that he can trace his lower lip. “Like that.”

This man was going to be the death of him.

“Nicky…” Yusuf swallows, his throat feeling dry. He can feel one of Nicky’s thighs sliding between his own, slowly enough that it could be an accident- though the look that he’s fixing Yusuf with is enough to tell him it’s not.

“Is this alright?”

This should be the part where Yusuf says no, insists on actually having that talk. Then he comes clean, and they both focus on getting back home, and Yusuf tries to imagine he’ll be just as happy with Charlotte. It’s not that part, though. It winds up being the part where Yusuf nods his head and cranes his chin up for a kiss, allowing the two of them to crash together.

That night, when they’re both sweaty and the moon has begun to rise, Nicky reclining against Yusuf’s chest in front of the fire as he reads aloud from his notebook, Yusuf’s wonders when the moment came that he fell completely. The only answer he can come up with is, _how could he not?_

*

Three Forks comes back much too soon. Perhaps that is to be expected, with the way Yusuf lives in the bubble of their travels. The mountain pass has dried significantly, and while they still have to take the same perilous ridge to make it through, navigating it without the torrents of rain and a fresh mudslide proves to be a great deal easier.

During the day they make quiet conversation, trading stories from childhood misfortunes. Sometimes Nicky will ask Yusuf to tell him tales, ones from mythologies around the world or the kinds found in the books he read back in Tunis. He’s all too happy to comply, deepening his voice for some characters and bringing it high and nasal for others, making a full production of it. Nicky seems to enjoy it, and he’s reminded of when he used to tell stories like them to Miriam, when they were still small.

At night, when they break, Yusuf normally ends up with Nicky curled against his front, after the both of them having got each other off with hands or mouths. The prospect of the oil given to them by Dizzy does come up once, but Yusuf immediately disagrees. While he would like to go further- and it’s certainly been in his dreams, the way he wraps around Nicky at night- he would much prefer an act so intimate happen in a bed. He wants it to be good for the both of them, damn it, and that requires them not fucking out in the open for any passing deer or stranger to see. He would also quite like to _bathe_ , and though Nicky says he doesn’t mind the road grime piling up on the both of them, Yusuf is entirely certain that his views on hygiene are not to be trusted and will be requiring an adjustment.

Before he knows it, the town is on the horizon. When it finally appears, Nicky goes wide-eyed, clutching the medicine even tighter. Yusuf takes note and pulls up Baki to ride just to his side.

“Nicky.”

“Hm?”

“Go.” Yusuf offers kindly, tilting his head. “I’ll come meet you tomorrow at the ranch if you’d like?”

Nicky looks like he equally wants to argue and like he wants to take off right there. “Are you sure?”

He shrugs. “I’ll be around. Besides, I think it’s better for you to have a moment alone with Miss Andromache and Quynh before I go barging in there. Introductions are better saved for a time when one is not ailing.”

The other man’s lips purse, and he lets out a sound something like a sob. He leans over in his saddle and holds the back of Yusuf’s neck to kiss him soundly. “Come and see me tomorrow, please?”

“I will. Now, go on. I’ll assure my sister we haven’t died”

A sharp whistle, and Elettra speeds off down the road, picking up speed. Yusuf watches him go, with a pang in his chest. He shakes his head out of it, though, and tries to set his mind on the task at hand:

Explaining everything to Miriam. 


	7. Convergence

_**October 1870** _

The speed with which Elettra takes Nicky towards the ranch seems nearly supernatural. Her hooves fly over the dirt, the thrumming keeping time with his heartbeat. His body moves along with each lurch of her powerful form, muscles rippling beneath the blonde coat. Not for the first time, Nicky marvels at the sheer wonder that is his companion- how clearly she seems to be a force of nature rather than another creature subject to it. A memory surfaces of spending days draped over her back, half dead and burning under the sun until she brought him back to humanity.

Elettra has, somehow, always known. She knows now, as he clutches the medicine bottle close to his chest. It’s a holy grail burning against his chest. His ray of hope that perhaps he might be able to prevent this tragedy. 

He hardly allows Elettra to slow before dismounting in a swift motion that sends a vibration up into his knees. Nicky has to clench his teeth against the ache it sends into his joints, but he’s far more worried at ensuring the bottle in his arms is surely corked and secure. He leaves her there without tying up her reins. She won’t go far- perhaps only to the pasture that’s meant to be for Andy’s few milk cows. The path into the house is closed in a few long strides, not bothering to knock.

Inside, Andy is sat next to the bed in the single bedroom. She looks like shit, which is to be expected given the circumstances, but it’s jarring all the same to see her in such a state. It wouldn’t be surprising if she’d hardly moved since Nicky had left. The dark circles and the disheveled state of her clothing are testament enough to that. The skin under her eyes is loose and paunched, giving her a weary and drowned look. He doesn’t think he can ever recall Andy ever appearing more fragile.

The body- nearly corpse, with how ashen her face has gone- that occupies the bed raises a weak hand to greet him. He assumed Quynh was asleep given how slow her breathing seemed, even given their uneven tempo. Even as her eyes flutter open and focus on him in a gauzy stare, it only comes in ragged bursts.

Nicky feels a sob catching in the back of his throat. She looks slightly better than how he left her, if only because the blood’s been cleaned from around her shoulder and she’s actually awake, but it’s clear he’s cut it close, coming this late. His mind runs with the possibilities of if they’d spent any more time in that mountain pass, or another day in Boise.

He cannot lose her. He simply can’t.

Before the tears are allowed to properly collect in his eyes, Nicky shuts the door on that particular tide of emotion and opts instead to kneel at Quynh’s side, taking her hand in his own. She gives it a weak squeeze for his trouble. He finds it strangely comforting, for so small an action. Maybe it was just the proof that he made it back in time. He almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of Quynh being the one to comfort him in this scenario. It’s covered by pressing a kiss to the back of her cold hand.

“You’re back early.” Andy says, her voice a mere croak. Nicky doubts that she’s said more than a few words here and there since Quynh had fallen ill. “Did you get the medicine.”

He nods, passing the bottle over to her. “Here. The chemist said to take it with food.”

She looks doubtfully between the medicine and her lover. “She hasn’t been able to keep anything but broth down.”

“I suppose it should still be fine, though I worry about deviating from her instruction-“

“Surely you both aren’t talking over me as if I were already a corpse?” Quynh says grumpily. “I don’t go down that easy.”

Both of their attentions snap to her. Her voice sounds thin as a reed, her skin stretched tightly around the bones of her face. Mottled bruises color her neckline and give her the appearance of a ghoul come back from a hanging. It sends a shiver down his spine, and a phantom sympathy pain pricks the scar on his cheekbone.

It is some consolation to know that whoever did this to her got it worse. She wouldn’t be alive otherwise.

“Hello, little brother.”

Nicky groans and plants his forehead against their intertwined fingers. “I thought we agreed you would stop calling me that.”

Quynh smiles weakly, cracked lips splitting painfully. “I agreed to no such thing. I do not _bargain,_ my good Nicolò . I will stop calling you little brother when you no longer fit the title.”

Andy has the medicine uncorked in a moment, attempting to hide her gagging at the cloying herbal scent from the both of them behind her arm. She retrieves a clean spoon that sits on the side table alongside a bowl of cold broth that looks entirely untouched.

“Sit up, my heart.” Andy says gently, in a tone Nicky would not normally associate with her quite imposing face. “We’re going to try giving this to you without food.”

She eyes the substance warily, but does her very best to rise enough to swallow without spilling. Nicky supports her as much as he can, moving the few pillows around behind her to keep her as comfortable as possible. She still winces and goes to clutch at her abdomen when she moves a touch too quickly. The medicine does go down smoothly, however, with only a slight grimace following it. They all wait in suspense, looking for any small sign that she might lose her stomach yet again.

Quynh sighs and works herself back into the bed. “Would you two please stop fussing?” She pouts, though there’s a laugh playing behind her eyes. “I’m not a child.”

“No luck of that,” Andy muses, pressing her lips to her forehead and pushing her hair out of the sweat on her forehead. “You’ll just have to get better, I suppose.”

She lets out a small noise of displeasure at that, but doesn’t argue. Instead, she turns to Nicky with a calculating eye that he already knows is going to be trouble for him. God, he’s missed her.

“How was your trip? Andy tells me you dragged the new blacksmith along with you.”

He can feel the flush creeping over his face and does his best to hide it by ducking his head into his own shoulder. She’s always been far too astute for him to mask much- a skill that has been both a blessing and a curse. Her keen eye has done wonders for her work as a bounty hunter, bringing an unbridled amount of success (present condition aside). It was the only reason he stayed in Three Forks in the first place. She had, almost literally, broken him down until he was forced to confide and trust in the both of them. The very first after the war to treat him with true compassion. She and Andy were perhaps the only two people he could claim truly knew him- aside from Elettra, perhaps.

Though Yusuf was quickly encroaching on that list. Maybe he had already snuck his way on, beneath all of Nicky’s defenses- not unlike the way he’d already managed to slip in and claim his heart.

When he neglects to respond, Quynh sucks her teeth and nudges him with their interlocked fingers. “So are you going to be _telling_ me about this man who’s got you blushing like a bride? Or am I to march out of this bed and thank him for keeping my little brother company myself?”

Nicky groans, face burning behind the hand he lifts to cover it. “You will meet him _eventually._ He wanted to assure his sister that we’d returned safely. I imagine he also wanted to allow me time alone with you both.”

Andy’s eyes twinkle across from him, but she does little more than smirk in that knowing way she does when he’s attempting to keep something secret. Quynh, on the other hand, was not as forgiving for such subtleties and releases his hand to poke his cheek.

“Name? Descriptions of his dream-like eyes and metal-wrought hands?”

He glares at Andy. “What have you told her?”

“Not _nearly_ enough!” Quynh remarks haughtily, though it costs her another wince and a cough that wracks her body. “Now, out with it before I expire on the spot just to spite you.”

He raises his hands in defeat, swallowing hard at the mere idea. “Fine. Yes, Alright.” Nicky sighs and pushes his hair back out of his eyes.

“His name is Yusuf. He’s… ah, Miriam’s older brother.” He pauses, silently hoping that she’ll be satisfied with that alone. Instead, Quynh only raises her eyebrows expectantly and indicates for him to continue with a tilt of her head. “He’s the blacksmith, as you know. But he’s an artist as well- _lovely_ pencil sketches and watercolors, I’ll have to get him to show them to you one day. A poet, too, though he’ll deny any talent he has.”

The image of Yusuf is clear in his mind- a picture in his memories of that broad smile as they curled around each other at night. The feeling of his hands skimming over Nicky’s sides chasing the outline of each of his ribs. A small puff of breath let out against his shoulder followed not long after by the barest brush of a kiss.

Nicky’s completely lost in him. The grin that crosses his face doesn’t come of his own volition, rather from the seed of warmth that Yusuf’s planted in his chest draws it from him. He barrels forward.

“He’s _good,_ Quynh, a better man than I could’ve thought. Kinder to me than perhaps I think I have deserved.” He earns a smack on the arm for that one. “Oh, and you asked about his eyes? They’re… they’re like nothing I can describe. Like God himself took the entire night sky and poured it into one man.” He lets out a breath. Andy and Quynh’s gazes are both trained on him unflinchingly, though he thinks he can spot the soft upward tick of a smile resting at the corner of Quynh’s mouth. Nicky takes it as a good sign. “And he helped me get your medicine- travelling with me, talking to the chemist. I never asked him, he simply did it.”

The room falls silent. He’s breathless in the face of his monologue, voice feeling slightly scratchy just from the amount of use it’s gotten over the past few days.

(He can also attribute it to Yusuf’s calloused, careful fingers, working him over until he saw more stars than just those in the sky)

“He must be quite the man,” Quynh remarks, turning to Andy. “If he can turn our Nicky into such a chatterbox.”

If he could, Nicky would melt on the spot. “He really, truly is.” Nicky lowers his voice as if he needs to keep this secret, somehow, just between the three of them. “He’s made me happy.”

They both share a look with each other that he could only hope to understand, communicating in the way that only married couples and nuns during service do with only their eyes. He’s never found himself jealous of that kind of connection, though now he can’t help but imagine the day when an entire conversation can happen between he and Yusuf in the blink of an eye.

Andy clears her throat. “Tell him to come over for dinner soon. I’ve yet to have a proper conversation with the man and I need to ensure he’s properly vetted before you allow him to go running around with your affections.”

“Yusuf wouldn’t-“

“He’s still a _man_ ,” Quynh rasps, pausing to let loose another rattling cough that Nicky winces at. “And he _will_ be interviewed. He must be found worthy of our little brother.”

He groans, loudly and mostly for show, but grins afterwards. He squeezes her hand again. “I missed you, Quynh.”

“I missed you too.”

*

_**November 1870** _

Life does not go back to normal in Three Forks. Yes, work resumes at the forge, and he attends his duties around the farm caring for the horses, and Merrick continues to slink around waiting to buy the land up from underneath Andy. But it doesn’t feel like he’s the same man. Maybe he isn’t, anymore. It feels much too soon to tell. Still, that doesn’t change the way he now wakes in the mornings- still early (he never was much of a deep sleeper), feeding the horses and spending an extra moment with Elettra to greet her before heading into the main house on the property to take over for Andy- who has inevitably fallen asleep looking after Quynh. She’s looking up, and her skin slowly begins to regain some color over the weeks that roll by, but she’s still kept to bed rest most days (mostly by Andy’s insistence she rests). As soon as he can, he’ll work the horses, then head into town to see Yusuf.

The work at the forge is different, too. They _do_ still work, and it seems like the blink of an eye before Yusuf sets a date for the official opening- they just tend to get sidetracked, is all. Nicky will be painting the front of the building with splotches all the way up his arms and on his face, sweating in the sun. Then he feels Yusuf’s arm at his side, and a grin being pressed up against the back of his neck before he’s pulled into a kiss that has the two of them getting carried away for the next hour. Nicky isn’t much better, though. He can’t help it if Yusuf’s concentration face brings out those wonderful lines by his eyes, or if the sight of him manning the bellows makes him hot under the collar enough that he needs to drag him aside and press his lips to every patch of skin available.

Being with him so openly is _addictive._ They don’t talk about it a lot, but anyone who knows them is more than aware. Booker takes every opportunity he can to rib him about it, and accuse them of leaving him to do most of the work on the days that he can spare to help out, almost always insinuating that they’ve been up to acts probably _not_ suited to the forge. It always makes Nicky blush, stammering out a defense of Yusuf’s honor, but they all end up laughing about it anyway.

If he’s being honest, a part of him believed that the newness would wear off as soon as they got back to Three Forks. Not that he expected the whirlwind of _Yusuf_ to suddenly fade and lose it’s power over him- but he had anticipated at the very least that it would stop hitting him like a bag of bricks that he gets to _kiss_ him now. That Yusuf will touch him, will hold him closely, will laugh with him at a terrible joke he’s told. It has yet to wear off. Nicky thinks he could kiss Yusuf for the next thousand years and still be thrilled each and every time.

Being with Antonio hadn’t felt like this. That had been a mere infatuation, compared to Yusuf. Nicky has never yet considered a future for himself in _any_ capacity, but he’s thinking he might just be able to if Yusuf is a part of it.

It’s something he finds himself pondering as the official opening to the forge approaches nearer and nearer. It’s the worst the night before.

The forge opening is the first new thing to happen in Three Forks since Yusuf came to town in the first place. Thus, it becomes something of an event to their friends and Yusuf’s family. Miriam practically insists they all get together for dinner at the shop, inviting all who are able to come and bring food to share. This results in the massive group that makes up their friends all gathering around Miriam and Edward’s dining table- and sprawling into the living room, when that space is inevitably filled with the different dishes they all bring. Even Quynh is able to come, riding in with Andy on their wagon, bearing a basket of vegetables from the garden that will go into the stew. Booker comes and drags Nile along with him, claiming that she’ll work herself to death, one of these days, if she doesn’t allow herself some reprieve. She shakes her head and says without an ounce of venom in her voice that she only came to humor him.

And there Yusuf sits, at the heart of it all, smiling as brightly as the sun and laughing to the stars and back. He seems completely at ease, telling stories and entertaining like it’s what he’s made to do. Nicky gets a bit overwhelmed, with all the talking and loud noises. It’s been more than just a few years since he’s found himself in such a close gathering of people, and even when he was younger, he’d never been much of a fan of dinner parties. But Yusuf made this one tolerable. He winks his way when their eyes meet, his heart stuttering.

The moment that has him freezing in place, hardly able to breathe, though, is when Noor carries her plate over to the spot on the floor next to where Yusuf is sitting in one of the armchairs, settling herself quite comfortably.

“Khaal Yusuf? Will you braid my hair?” She asks sweetly, a candy-like tone coating her voice. “Mama told me that you used to do it for her, and I want my hair to be pretty.”

Miriam sighs heavily. “Noor, I’m sure there must be a better time to ask-“

“Don’t worry about it.” Yusuf says easily, waving her off. He’s already finished his food, setting his own empty plate down and indicating for Noor to move her head. “Turn around, wildcat. And don’t squirm too much, I wouldn’t like to yank on your hair. Can you go grab your comb and some ribbons?”

Noor lets out a little squeal of delight, on her feet and tearing off down the hall in a flash of dark black curls. He glances over at Yusuf across from him questioningly, and only gets a shrug in response. Noor returns brandishing a black, wide-tooth comb, arranging herself and her skirts together to sit between his legs. He chuckles, taking it from her to begin separating it into smaller sections. His careful fingers work quickly, pulling the strands into two braids that flare out at the base of her skull, parting down the center. Conversation continues around his work, with Noor offering up her own opinion excitedly from time to time. It is _remarkable_ how much she looks like her uncle, Nicky thinks.

So remarkable, in fact, that Nicky begins to wonder about what Yusuf’s children would look like. Of course, that’s not something the two of them could do, but its not hard to see him as a father. Yusuf had said before that he’d always grown up in the epicenter of a large family, surrounded by cousins and siblings and a thousand distant relatives, it’s no surprise that this comes easy to him. It’s different to see his ease in action, though. The gentle yet teasing way he interacts with Noor, the way he positively _beams_ with pride when he finishes and Noor bounces between everyone to show off the two completed braids. Nicky smiles wide, in a way he has begun to realize only Yusuf is able to bring out in him.

And then, it dawns on him. Just as Booker is offering everyone another round of drinks and Quynh begins to tell the story of how Andy used to run around bounty hunting with her, and Yusuf fixes him with a soft look. It’s nothing grand, nothing different than the thousand other times they’ve locked eyes together. But in that second, Nicky knows that this is precisely what he wants for the rest of his life. Surrounded by the people he loves. Surrounded by Yusuf.

It scares him half to death. He _barely_ anticipated living as long as he had, much less having an honest-to-God life. It seems easier with Yusuf. Like it could be a thing he’s allowed to have.

When the night has drawn to a close, he waves Andy and Quynh off when they ask if he’s coming back to the ranch with him.

Andy raises an eyebrow. “Oh? I don’t suppose you’ll be spending the night at Yusuf’s?”

He groans, cheeks flushing a deep scarlet. “Quynh?”

“I’m not going to save you.” She says, arms crossed from her seat up on the wagon. “Just promise you won’t wake up the whole town-“

“Alright. Perhaps it’s time you two went home. I’m sure you’re both _quite_ tired after the long evening.”

Andy chuckles and pulls him into a quick hug. One hand rests at the back of his head softly, nearly cradling it. “I like him, Nicky.” She pulls back, looking over his eyes and nearly through him. “I like what he brings out in you. I don’t think I’ve seen you socialize before. It’s impressive.”

“I like him too.”

Both of the women bid him goodnight, though not without another very pointed wiggling of the eyebrows Quynh sends over her shoulder at him. He snorts and shakes his head, sticking by to say his farewells to Booker and Nile.

Upstairs, he finds Yusuf helping Miriam and Edward clearing off the remaining plates and putting their living room back in order. Noor had fallen asleep not long before everyone began to filter out, and still lays curled on the armchair that Yusuf abandoned, her chest rising and falling slowly, face tucked into the upholstery. Nicky steps lightly on the stairs up, trying to make as little sound as possible.

Yusuf grins at him as he appears, eyes sparkling even in the low light of the lanterns and candles that dot the space. Nicky crowds into his space, pressing his face into his warm shoulder. He could positively melt into him, like this.

“Did you have a good night?” Yusuf’s voice rumbles lowly in his chest, the vibrations delightful to his food-sleepy mind. He nods, not able to do much more than that. Yusuf chuckles, kissing the side of his head. A hand rubs up and over his back, and he practically groans with how good it feels.

“Yusuf.”

Nicky’s head raises up to look at Miriam, eyebrows scrunching up. She stands watching them from the hall, likely having just gone to put Noor in bed. Her face is strangely tight, far too similar to when she’s listening to a particularly annoying customer rattle on and is trying to remain neutral-looking. He glances over at Yusuf, who’s gone stiff.

“Will you help me with something out back?” She asks, smiling slightly at Nicky for a split second before focusing her fiery eyes on her brother. He is _very_ grateful that he’s never been on the other end of that look, but the way they’re both avoiding his eye makes him nervous.

“Of course.” Yusuf rubs Nicky’s arm. “Are you headed back to the ranch?”

“I- well,” He swallows. “I was thinking, if you don’t mind, I’d sleep in town tonight. In case you need help with opening tomorrow.”

The smile that breaks on Yusuf’s face is enough to dissipate some of the tension in the room. Even Miriam seems to soften, though she still seems on edge.

“Nicolò , you sweet man. I’d love your help tomorrow. Why don’t you wait for me back home? I’ll catch up as soon as I’m done here.”

“Are you sure? I can help-“

“It’s fine, Nicky.” Miriam says sternly. “I just need my brother for now.”

“Alright.” He grabs his hat from the hook just near the staircase, situating it back on his head. The way Yusuf’s face darkens doesn’t evade him, and he tips it teasingly his way before waving goodnight to Miriam and thanking her for the meal.

When Yusuf joins him at the shack behind the forge, it’s much later, and Nicky has already stripped off his shirt and is half asleep reading one of Yusuf’s books in bed. He looks tired, but still lets a smile cover his face as he toes off his boots and hangs his long wool jacket up on the coat rack.

“She kept you long. Have you gotten in trouble, Yusuf?” Nicky jokes lightly, splaying the book flat on his chest. “One too many stolen candies?”

Yusuf shakes his head and begins to pull off his layers until he stands just in his underclothes. He leans over Nicky in bed, placing soft, closed-mouth kisses across his stomach and up to his clavicle. “Hmm. No, though I have no doubt if she truly knew the number that I’ve been taking she’d sic Copley on me.” He brings their mouths together then, and Nicky feels his toes curl under the sheets at the way Yusuf’s teeth scrape at his bottom lip. “It was just… a family matter. Nothing too worrisome, I promise.”

“If you’re sure,” Nicky murmurs against Yusuf’s mouth, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him down more firmly on top of him, so that their bodies lay flat together. “But if you’re going to be running from the law, I would appreciate some advance warning to pack.”

He hums happily, dropping his head to drag his beard across Nicky’s neck, eliciting a shiver. “Good to know.”

*

It comes as no surprise to anyone that the forge is immediately booming with business. Not only is Yusuf a skilled craftsman, already working hard to make a decent amount of general stock (nails, toolheads, etc.) available from the opening, and a skilled businessman- talking with each and every one of his customers like old friends, sparing a smile for every person who walks in; he’s also the only blacksmith in town. An accidental monopoly, really, but it helped create a successful opening.

Nicky sticks around for the first half of the morning, running around and grabbing boxes full of nails or door hinges or handles to bring down to customers. He doesn’t help with the sums and the trading- as much as he would’ve liked, he hadn’t had to do equations since he was a young man, and he feared he would only slow the process. Yusuf hires one of the young town girls too- a teenager named Marnie- to help him tally up the orders. She’s smart, even as a teenager, and shares in Yusuf’s whip-smart sense of humor. She keeps her long black hair tied back in a blue ribbon that catches the light as the two joke with each other between customers,

After a few hours, though, it is clear that Nicky is not needed. He makes this known, and while Yusuf tries to argue with him, he points out that he is only taking up space.

“Besides,” Nicky adds with a glint in his eye. “I have other plans. See you tonight?” He chuckles as Yusuf nods his head enthusiastically and gives him a parting kiss goodbye. Marnie makes her displeasure at this sight known, and he laughs his way back out to Elettra.

He did, in fact, have other plans. Nicky wasn’t certain exactly when Yusuf planned to close for the evening (he kept saying he would decide on proper operating hours once he got a handle on how much work he’d be undertaking), but he knew that he absolutely would break for dinner, and that was something Nicky fully plans on exploiting. He heads back to the shack and begins his preparations, heading to the general store to grab the last few supplies he needs. Edward is the one manning the counter, and he offers Nicky a smile beneath his bushy brown beard. Edward had always been quite a quiet, stoic man- it was something the two of them had in common. It created a certain brotherhood between them, as well as Miriam’s teasing that the two of them could have entire conversations with three words, a grunt, and a shared nod.

The machinations of his plan have him packing up a wicker basket just around dinner time and sweating over the range in the shack. He mops up the sweat on his brow with the red kerchief around his neck and happily examines his work, checking each item off on the list in his head to ensure it’s all there.

It’s only then that he notices that he’s taken the kerchief off. Sometime in the process of going to clean his face, he’d picked out the knot that had held in place for the last five years. It had been the only thing of Antonio’s he’d taken with him to the war- there had been a small portrait he’d managed to smuggle over to Nicky from his parent’s collection of photos, but that he hadn’t wanted to take with him for fear of losing it. He’s almost happy he didn’t, now. For years he’d mourned it’s loss, but he’s almost certain he would’ve gotten attached to it as well.

Nicky stares down at the little kerchief. It’s faded and stained and getting threadbare. It had barely been more than a rag to start with. The original smell of Antonio had long since faded and been replaced by something quiet and neutral. It was just a scrap of fabric, now. He scrunches his face up together, then breathes a deep sigh. Nicky crouches down and opens the door of the range with the kerchief over his fingers so that he doesn’t burn himself.

He stares into the fire. He shucks the kerchief in and watches it catch. In five years, Nicky has never felt lighter.

When he’s done watching it burn, he smothers the fire out and kicks the door closed. He glances into the small looking glass that Yusuf keeps and tries to make himself halfway decent. His hair could probably do with a cut, what with how it’s sweeping down past his jaw now, but there’s not much he can do but tuck some of it behind his ear and grimace. He is able to rub a little bit of ash off of his face that he must’ve gotten at the forge. He’s hardly presentable, but Yusuf had yet to take issue with his appearance, so he sends up a silent prayer that he looks fine.

He can hear the lively music from the saloon begin to play and the sun is beginning to set when he loads his basket up onto Elettra and he walks her back down to the forge. She seems in oddly good spirits, as if she can sense his nervousness for the evening and is doing her best to help him along. Nicky’s heart swells at the thought, and his gives the side of her neck an absentminded little pat as a ‘thank you’.

Things have indeed slowed down at the forge. It looks like there aren’t any customers inside, and the gas lamps by the large, open door have been lit. Inside, when he knocks on the wall, Yusuf startles from his position at the coals, hands still on the bellows. The sleeves of his work shirt have been pushed haphazardly up to his elbows, and his forearms and face glisten with sweat. The front of the shirt is plastered to his chest, and Nicky is offered the most spectacular view of Yusuf’s chest. Had he always been so muscular? He must have. It’s not that Nicky hasn’t seen him shirtless before- he’s seen him completely bare a number of times, now. It’s that each and every time, he manages to take Nicky’s breath away like it’s the first.

“Hey, _habibi_ ” Yusuf says, grinning. His face is covered in soot and ash. Nicky chuckles at the sight. “There’s not much to help out with here at the moment- I sent Marnie home just over an hour ago. I thought you went back to the farm.”

Nicky crosses over to him and crowds up into Yusuf’s space. He smells of his exertion and the worked metal and the smoke, but he kisses his cheek anyway and catches Yusuf’s eye. “And leave you here alone with this big shop? I think not.” His arms snake around Yusuf’s waist and hug him close. “How was it today?”

“Not bad. I’ve already got custom and repair orders coming in. It’s good work, but…” Yusuf blows out a big breath and sighs, looking around the shop and back to him. “It’s going to be a lot. I can feel my fingers burning already.”

“Well, then I have a perfect solution. When do you close?”

He looks between the bellows and Nicky, beginning to say something. Then he seems to catch the look in Nicky’s eye, grasping that he has machinations beyond their idle chat. “Now. I can close now. Help me lock everything up?”

It takes them all of an hour to smother the flames at the forge and lock the large barn doors. Yusuf counts up the money he made and takes the small stack of notes for the special orders and puts them in a lockbox under the counter, the key to which he drops in his pocket. Nicky double checks their stock of building supplies and tools, making note of what Yusuf will need to start making more of already.

Then, when they have finally completed, Yusuf delays Nicky’s plans further by jogging back to the shack to change. Nicky can’t exactly blame him, and as much as he likes to see him covered in sweat, muscles bulging, he knows that they’ll both be happier with Yusuf wiped down and in fresh clothing.

Yusuf emerges a new man, face freshly washed and positively glowing, his nicer coat pulled on and a smile on his face. “Alright. What now?”

“And now,” Nicky says, pulling himself up onto Elettra and offering a hand down to Yusuf. “We ride.”

He takes Nicky’s hand with a shake of his head and a wide grin, grunting a little as he settles. Yusuf brings himself as close to Nicky’s back as he can, practically plastering the two of them completely together so that he can hook his chin over Nicky’s shoulder. He hums happily, dragging his nose across the back of his neck and into the hair that begins to curl there. Hands curl softly at Nicky’s hips, gripping in the ghost of a touch that has Nicky’s cheeks burning.

“Missed you.”

Nicky smiles. He takes up Elettra’s reins and starts her going, taking another path riding directly west out of town. “I wasn’t gone very long.”

“I know,” Yusuf says. “But I’ve been spoiled working with you all day. I think I’m going to become incredibly heartsick.”

“I’m not going back to Boise yet.” Nicky warns playfully,

They both chuckle at that, and fall into a lull in time with Elettra’s steps. They’re going at a slow pace, in no real hurry. Sundown in Three Forks tended to linger for a while, waiting until it was noticed and appreciated properly before slipping below the horizon and welcoming in the dusk (which stuck around even longer). He leads the both of them up onto one of the steeper hills that overlooks the town. It’s not quite a mountain, as it has little in common with those monstrosities down south the both of them had to pass through, sharing only the trait that they are vertical. However, Nicky knows it to be more than just another of the great cresting waves of the plains, and takes them all the way up to the tallest ride. From there, the town seems doll-sizes and the hills below them more like the soft ripples of the ocean. The sun is setting above it all, dragging it’s pink and purple silks across the sky with it. The moon is out early to wish it goodbye, too, along with a single star. Yusuf gasps at the view, dismounting Elettra after Nicky, taking his hand to help himself down.

“It doesn’t all seem _real,_ from up here.” He remarks. “Like a painting.”

Nicky smiles. He knew Yusuf would like it, but he still can’t help the stirrings of pride swimming round like dragons in his stomach. He unties the wicker basket from the back of Elettra’s saddle and sets it just before the edge of the ridge, far enough back that their feet won’t dangle off the side but they could still see the beginnings of the path they’d taken up. Nicky unfolds the small blanket that had been cushioning most of the contents of the basket and spreads it out neatly.

“Did you make me a picnic, Nicolò?” Yusuf says breathlessly. His question is answered as Nicky begins to lay out their food- a loaf of bread, some goat’s cheese he’d taken from the farm, a lone jar of honey, and a small collection of dried fruits. He sits down happily on one side of the spread, and Nicky doesn’t hesitate to join him on the other. Yusuf’s hands ghost over the food, as if he doesn’t know where to start. He hovers over the bread giving him a look. “It’s still warm.”

“I made it. Had to let the dough rest for a while and my arms might fall off from kneading, but yes.” Nicky tears off a chunk and hands it to Yusuf, watching him devour it like a man who had never eaten before, only had it described. The moan he lets out is indecent, and Nicky has to duck his head to hide the blush.

“Nicky, Nicky, _Nicky,”_ Yusuf chants, mouth still full of bread. “Truly, I have known nothing more delicious.”

“It’s bread, Yusuf.”

“Ah, but it is bread made by the love of my life. It is bound to taste better than all else.”

He stills. His heart is pounding in his chest, fingers twitching where they lay just inches from Yusuf’s. “What was that?”

Yusuf is still engrossed in his bread, popping the last bite into his mouth and rolling his eyes back in his head with pleasure. He glances to Nicky when he notices the undue silence. “Hm?”

“You- You said…” Nicky trails off. When Yusuf tips his head, he groans and pulls his legs up closer to himself. “Love of your life. Did you mean that?”

His eyes widen until they’re almost comically large before settling into something fond, if a little terrified. Nicky felt he could resonate. “Oh. That.” Yusuf clears his throat and pauses. Their eyes meet again, and for a long moment, neither of them moves. Nicky’s afraid to do so much as breathe. He feels utterly fixed in place by Yusuf’s stare, his black eyes glittering happily, brighter than any starlight. And then he nods to himself, as if he’s come to an agreement in his own head and reaches out to take Nicky’s hand. “I mean it. I love you, Nicky. It is fast, perhaps, but- I know it in my bones. I love you because it was the only thing I was made to do. I have only become surer of that with time.”

He lets out a deep breath he hadn’t been aware he’d drawn in, feeling light-headed. It’s so much, it’s _too_ much, and he has to actively fight against himself to let himself sit there. Let Yusuf’s words wash over him, let them curl his toes in his boots, and send a tingle up his spine.

“I love you too, Yusuf. With all of me, I love you too.”

That night they spend under the stars together, reminiscing about their days together in travel. And when Nicky puts his mouth around Yusuf, listening to his name being cried out to the shadowing figures of the red-tailed hawks drifting lazily overhead, he is more certain than anything else that his name was only meant to be said like this. By Yusuf’s mouth, with such reverence and pleasure it could have been a prayer.

*

_**December 1870**_

Nicky can see Merrick eyeing him from the corner of his vision. The little weasel had maintained the good sense to stay away while Quynh had been recovering (though Nicky half hoped he wouldn’t, knowing that Andy would have sent him running back to town with two black eyes and a few less teeth). Now that she was better, and things seemed to even be looking up for the ranch with Quynh’s contribution, Merrick was a vulture waiting to snap up any old piece of carrion his way. He’d tried, over the past week of preparing for the grand opening of the forge, to pull Nicky aside no less than five times. Then, he’d always managed to escape by ducking into the shop with Yusuf and Booker, snickering at the shade of red the man turns when he doesn’t get his way.

Unfortunately, today seemed to provide him no such luck.

He was just grabbing a few things for Yusuf from the general store before they were meant to meet up. The snow clings to his boots and his breath fogs the air, but his trusty fur-lined jacket helps keep the cold at bay. With a smile that seems strangely skewed, Miriam passes him the little basket of ginger candies he’d ordered, as well the new box of mint tea to replace the tin they’d gone through getting the forge back in working order. And, slinking around the corners of the shop like an eel, Merrick trails him closely behind. If Nicky were riding back to the ranch, it would hardly be an issue- Elettra would flick her mane at the annoyance and take off down the road, flinging up the powdery snow in her path. Unfortunately, he’s just walking back to the forge- meaning Merrick has time enough to jog up to him, meeting his long strides.

Nicky sets his mouth in a hard line. This is supposed to be a good day. The forge has been open for some time now, practically working Yusuf to the bone, and the end of the year is soon to come. Yusuf had insisted that Nicky shouldn’t get him anything- he didn’t celebrate Christmas and, in his own words exchanged between soft kisses, the only gift he needed was Nicky’s company. He recalls the afternoon with a flush rising to his cheeks, thanking the chill of December for giving the rosy hue of his skin an alibi. Merrick is closely approaching, and Nicky is determined that he will not be ruining his plans. The parchment folded in his breast pocket burns against him, the memory of hours spent couched over his small dining table by candlelight ensuring each stroke of ink was perfect.

“Hello again,” Merrick says in mock joviality, falling into a hasty step beside him. “How are you this bitter morning, Nicky?”

“Quite well” He replies curtly. He can see now that there are people staring at the two of them. It’s with a kind of sad amusement with which he remarks to himself that of the two of them, most of the townsfolk consider him the criminal.

“Good to hear it. I see that Mr. al-Kaysani’s forge is close to its completion. It’s fine work, really. He will be a boon to the community.”

Nicky narrows his eyes but doesn’t move his head to look at the other man. He nods his head, taking the turn to Yusuf’s building.

“It’s an awful shame he’ll be leaving again so soon.”

An eyebrow arcs of its own accord. “Oh? I’ve heard nothing of his departure.” He almost wants to laugh at Merrick’s sad attempt to gossip.

“Yes, yes- well, they’ve been discussing it at the shop of late,” He says lightly, as is Miriam and Yusuf would ever willingly allow him into their conversations. “I hear he’s set for New York as soon as the snow thaws.”

Nicky’s mouth quirks, catching the tall roof of the forge within his eyeline. “Is that so.”

“Indeed. Something about finally going and marrying that fiancé of his.”

“I wasn’t aware he had a fiancé.”

“But of course.” Merrick says incredulously. “A family like the al-Kaysani’s cannot simply let their progeny lie wherever they will if you can grasp my meaning. All of their marriages are arranged beforehand. I’m sure you knew that Edward and Miriam’s matrimony was planned since they were small. It only makes sense that Yusuf would be married off to further the family’s standing.”

Something about his words twists in Nicky’s stomach. He doesn’t _believe_ him, of course he doesn’t. Merrick would do anything to separate Nicky away from Yusuf- if not to prevent Yusuf from making any favorable deal with Andy in order to starve them out, then certainly just to ruin his day.

Luckily enough, it’s right about at that point that they come upon the forge. Luckier still is that Yusuf happens to be outside, dousing a glowing hot bar of steel into one of the large tubs of water he keeps nestled in the snow. He hasn’t bothered to put a coat on just to quench the metal, meaning that the steam comes up from the water and twists around the sheen of sweat on his arms. The muscles are defined nicely from hours of hammering away, crafting raw materials into something useful, something beautiful.

“It has been… Well, I won’t say it was a pleasure, Merrick,” Nicky says bluntly, grinning wide as Yusuf twists around to wave at him. “But I do hope that you have a good day.”

He leaves Merrick stuttering in the snow with a satisfied smile on his face. Yusuf jerks his head towards the house out back behind the forge, indicating for him to go on ahead of him. He does, slowing as he passes to wipe a patch of soot from Yusuf’s bare arm with a raised eyebrow.

Never, in his entire life, had he imagined being _happy._ Happy was an idea, a concept written by poets and novelists to sell books- a pretty one, but an idea nonetheless. Nicky wasn’t made for _happy._ However, being with Yusuf these past months, both on the trail and in the forge was quickly convincing him otherwise.

If he was not made for happiness, then perhaps Yusuf had found a way to shape him into something different, like he would a broken tool. The righting of the head of a shovel, assuring it of it’s proper duty. It’s unexpected and lovely, much like the man himself.

With an ever-softening heart, Nicky steps into Yusuf’s home, hanging his leather coat up on the hook by the door and stamping out his boots by the door. They’ve both done a decent bit of work on the house itself, using the remaining supplies that were left over from the forge to reinforce the walls against the occasional windstorms that the rolling prairie saw and ensuring the building was properly insulated (after Yusuf griped to him for the hundredth time about his toes freezing in bed). He starts the kettle boiling on the range, fishing the tin out of his pocket and setting it on the table. The carefully folded parchment he tucks into the back of his waistband, touching with a slight reverence as he goes about setting up.

Yusuf enters not long after, smelling of coal and sweat- a scent Nicky has begun to exclusively think of as his. It should probably be terrible, and to anyone else it might be. But Nicky is not anyone else- he is the man that loves and is loved by Yusuf al-Kaysani- so he immediately crosses the floor in one long stride to wrap him up in his arms, tucking his cold nose into Yusuf’s flame-heated skin. Yusuf makes a small noise of discomfort, but it’s quickly covered by a chuckle as he places a kiss on the top of Nicky’s head. His hands rub up and down on Nicky’s arms, attempting to inspire some warmth in them. Little does Yusuf know that Nicky has all the warmth he needs inside of his chest right now.

“You’re freezing, _ya amar._ Did you start a fire?”

“Not yet. Kettle’s on the range though, and I brought more of that mint tea from the store.”

Yusuf kisses each of Nicky’s pinked cheeks with a groan. “My love, how have I ever come to deserve a man like you? You should be wary, I might feel inclined to bundle you up and keep you in my bed until summer.”

“You say that as if I would object.” Nicky says slyly, sliding his hands down Yusuf’s back to rest just below the rise of his ass, allows his fingernails to create just the slightest pinpricks of pain just to watch the flush creep into his cheeks and his perfect mouth fall open slightly. “Perhaps I’d prefer to winter with you in a nest of blankets?”

“Oh, you _are_ a devil.” Yusuf laments. He extricates himself from Nicky’s hold after a chaste kiss pressed to his lips. “But I worked much too hard on your gift to not give it to you. Is the water ready yet?”

They wait for the kettle to start it’s whistle before both filling their tin mugs with tea and settling on the edge of the bed, leaving their boots by the door so that they can warm their toes with one of the large blankets that Yusuf keeps folded on a chair. Before they settle, Yusuf paws through the old chest and pulls out something covered in a burlap cloth. He sets it on his lap, holding Nicky’s face after he’s covered his feet up and presses a slow, careful kiss against his lips. It’s probably not the best kiss they’ve ever shared- he hasn’t exactly been keeping track- but it’s one of his favorites. One of those kisses that speaks of familiarity, of domesticity. A kiss that he could keep on sharing with Yusuf until the end of his days.

A terrifying thought, forever. He thinks he might even be ready to face it.

“Alright,” Yusuf says, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth anxiously looking between the two of them before putting the item he’d pulled from the chest behind him. “I want to open mine first.”

Nicky flushes, but nods anyway, slowly extricating the papers from his waistband. His fingers shake, like the parchment has somehow become ten times heavier than it should be. It could just be the words, weighing him down both in heart and in hand. Yusuf takes it gratefully, snatching his palm as well to press his lips against the inside of his wrist with a grin. He unfolds the pages and begins to scan over them, face falling slack.

“What is this?”

“Well- it’s not much, and I’m certainly no poet,” Nicky stutters out. “You’ll have to forgive me if anything is wrong-“

Yusuf’s hands ghost over the scraggly looking lines almost reverently, like he’s much too afraid he’ll smudge the ink to touch it properly. His gaze snaps up to meet Nicky’s. “You _wrote_ this?”

He’s blushing like mad- he must be, given how warm the tips of his ears feel, the way his whole face feels like it’s been in front of the forge and not Yusuf. “Miriam was the one teaching me, but yes. It’s not perfect-“

Yusuf’s arms are around him before he can even think to finish his statement, kissing the entirety of his face with wet smacking noises.

“You _sweet,_ ” _smack_ “Amazing,” _smack_ “Wonderful man.” _Smack smack. “_ I truly don’t deserve you, my Nicolò _.”_

He giggles and pushes Yusuf off of him, trying to get himself under control (though that quickly seemed to be a losing battle). “Don’t go thanking me just yet. My poetry’s no good in Italian, much less Arabic.”

“I’m certain you’ll only get better.”

The grin that Yusuf flashes him is bright enough to bask in. He’s so consistently _bright,_ Nicky wonders if it might give him sunburn. “I’m glad you like it, Yusuf. I love you.”

Absolutely stricken, Yusuf swallows down the emotion creeping into his throat. Something dark flashes behind his eyes, a hidden melancholy that Nicky can’t bring himself to ask about. “I love you too, Nicky.” He shakes his head and sets the poem down with care beside him. He retrieves the covered object and presents it, looking suddenly quite bashful. “Your turn.”

Nicky takes the object tentatively, nearly dropping it when he doesn’t anticipate the sturdy weight of it. He pulls the burlap cloth aside, and nearly drops it again when all the air leaves his lungs.

The statuette Yusuf has given him is beautiful, to say the very least. It’s clear that metalworking is not his _preferred_ medium, but in Nicky’s eyes that makes it no less perfect. In his hands, he holds a medium sized horse, about a foot tall, made of hammered and bent selections of metal. Based on the cut of the mane, and the forelock as well, he can tell it’s meant to be Elettra. Powerful muscle encapsulated in a layer of aluminum and steel, all complete with the selfsame look of dignity that she always manages to carry with her throughout every situation. It’s regal and delicate, and made all the more precious knowing it was Yusuf’s hands that crafted it. Nicky cradles the sculpture to his chest, eyes shining as he glances up at the man in front of him.

Yusuf’s flushed, the softest of smiles spreading across his face as he looks between the statue and Nicky’s eyes. “So you like it?”

“ _Like_ it? Yusuf…” He trails off.

Nicky has never been a man of many words. As much as he enjoyed his poetry, finding the right phrases for himself seemed to be an impossible task. To try and put this _thing_ inside of him to words, to try to describe or put a name to this garden of affections that has sprouted would be to do a gross disservice to it. He is a man of actions. Nicky does the only thing he knows to do.

He surges forward, setting the sculpture of Elettra down on the floor before bowling Yusuf flat on the bed. The other man makes a slight noise of surprise that’s quickly replaced by a whine as Nicky takes his face in his hands and kisses him like a madman. He kisses Yusuf like he is the only water in the world, the only rays of sun in the sky, the last ripe fruit in the heart of winter. Nicky kisses him like he is necessary and beautiful, simply because he is.

One of Yusuf’s hands sneaks around to the back of Nicky’s head and cradles it carefully. His fingers slip between the strands, tangling and tugging on them ever so slightly. Nicky takes the opportunity to press their chests flat together, eliminating any space remaining between them. The contact at their hips sends sparks racing up his spine and drops his head down to Yusuf’s neck. He dips his head low, just at the junction of his shoulder, and leaves a biting kiss there as he grinds himself down.

Yusuf groans, a beautiful thing that sleeps deep and low in Nicky’s heart. “If this is how you’ll thank me for every gift, I’m going to start bringing you leftover nails from the forge.”

“And I would cherish every single one.” Nicky says earnestly, pulling back enough to look him in the eyes. They shine even without light to hit them- though he realized weeks ago that that’s just natural to him. “I love you, Yusuf. _Amore mio,_ my heart. I don’t think I knew what that truly meant before you.”

He swallows, Adam’s apple dipping sweetly. There’s something lingering in Yusuf’s expression, like he wants to say something, but he shakes his head. “I love you, _Nicolò_ _.”_

It’s far too much- it always is, coming face to face with how much he cares for Yusuf. He hides the dopey grin curling his lips back in Yusuf’s neck, working a bruise into the soft skin at the base. Yusuf rocks his hips up again, chasing some sort of friction. His fingers scrabble at the back of Nicky’s head for purchase, but he takes them in one of his own and presses them back against the bed, leaving Yusuf panting and delightfully exposed. With his free hand, Nicky rucks up the soft linen shirt he normally works in to show the smattering of dark hair against the golden skin of his abdomen, pressing his fingers into the muscles appreciatively. He leans in close, allowing his lips to brush the shell of Yusuf’s ear and positively _drinking_ the shudder that it elicits.

“Now, allow me to thank you _properly."_

_*_

They’re reclining later, on the bed, both entirely bare under the blankets that have been pulled up to their armpits to stave the cold away. Even with the furnace lit, wood crackling in the space between their whispered words, their breath hangs in the air for a few seconds before dissipating. Yusuf groans, tucking his rapidly cooling, sweaty body against Nicky’s side- particularly his nose, which he has decided belongs just beneath his armpit and on the thin skin of his ribs. Nicky yelps at the chilly intruder, wiggling in Yusuf’s grasp and giggling as he holds him even tighter.

“I’m going to build you a house,” Nicky says sourly, stilling to subject himself to Yusuf’s torture. “With _proper_ insulation, and the biggest fireplace you have ever seen, just so I won’t have to deal with you poking me with your cold nose.”

Yusuf sits up slightly, using one arm to prop his head. “Maybe you should. I can build a stable in the back, for Elettra. And me, when I inevitably try to warm my toes on you and you kick me out of the bed.”

“Hm. I do not believe Elettra would be keen on sharing. You may be forced to spend the night at your sister’s.”

“Oh, I shudder at the thought. Miriam would probably tell me I deserve it, shuck me out on the street corner.”

“Then I suppose you'll have to shiver out in the cold by yourself. Or, you can wear your socks to bed and spare me.”

Yusuf mock-gasps. “Socks in bed? Nicky, I could _never._ I’m not a heathen.” His fingers begin to prod at Nicky’s stomach, searching for the spots he knows are ticklish. “Come on now, just admit that you love me too much to kick me out. You’d be bereft, I’m sure.”

Nicky wrenches out of his grasp, letting out a snorted guffaw as he tries to hold back his laughter. Eventually, though, when his sides hurt from gasping and his already-sore muscles begin to complain that he is not resting, he relents. “Fine, fine. You are quite right, my Yusuf.”

He’s quiet a long moment before he continues, arranging one of Yusuf’s curls back into place. “It’s hard to sleep without you, you know. I think you’re making me addicted to being held.”

Yusuf kisses him, quite soundly. “Good. I’m going to be holding you until the moment I no longer have arms to hold you with. And even then, I’ll use my legs.” To punctuate his point, Yusuf winds his leg in between Nicky’s, locking them together.

Nicky can’t say anything around the knot that forms in his throat and does the one thing he _can-_ he pulls Yusuf’s lips to his, tasting himself and the remnants of their tea and the ginger candy he’d popped into his mouth after their post-coitus cuddle. Their mouths have learned each other now. They move with an ease that he wouldn’t have thought possible with anyone else. Yusuf’s hand sits on the side of his neck, holding him close and guiding him in equal measure.

They part with a soft, satisfied hum resonating on Yusuf’s lips. He then groans, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically, turning into the picture of a limp waif. “Ugh. I don’t want to open the forge tomorrow. I would like to stay here with you. We can read, and I’ll sketch you while you’re still all sleep-soft.”

“I’m almost entirely certain Elettra would break the door down to take me back to the ranch. She’s quite spoiled- she doesn’t like not sleeping in her stall.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Yusuf snorts. He settles back in the bed, eyes closing comfortably. “Oh, I meant to ask you- I saw Merrick trailing you on the way in. What did the little rat want with you now?”

Nicky waves his hand noncommittally, rolling to lay on his stomach. “Oh, the usual. He likes to try and aggravate me.” He raises an eyebrow, looking over at Yusuf with a smile. “Apparently, you have a wedding date in the early spring to get to, as well as a fiancé, all in New York.” Nicky shakes his head. “I think he’s starting to get desperate- it’s not even a good lie.”

He's waiting for Yusuf to laugh, to make fun of Merrick and move on with their night. They’re both tired after their earlier lovemaking, he expects them to crawl off to sleep before long. It doesn’t come. Instead, he grows quiet and all of the mirth that was just on his face has drained away.

“Don’t tell me you’ve started to pay Stephen Merrick any mind,” Nicky says softly. “He’s not worth the energy, _cuore mio.”_

Yusuf nods, slowly, eyes focused in on his hands twisting in the sheets. His silence begins to worry him. Despite the months now that they have been together, there is still an element of fragility to the two of them that he can feel. It’s thin as a knife’s-edge, and just as sharp, but they’d managed to avoid it skillfully up until now. Nicky winces, probing slightly.

“Did I say something wrong, Yusuf? I didn’t mean to upset you, or make you feel silly. Merrick gets under my skin too, you don’t have to worry about my judgement.”

“No. Not a single thing you said was wrong.” Yusuf says harshly, a line of bitterness cutting through the air and sending Nicky recoiling back. He sighs and sits up, lacing their fingers together. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to take this out on you. I am just… frustrated.”

“Alright,” Nicky says carefully, drawing himself up on the bed to match Yusuf’s eyeline and clutching his hand tightly. “What about?”

Merrick had found a number of things to sling their way, since finding out that they were together. Some of them had even hit home, for Nicky- snide remarks about Yusuf finding infatuation below his station, picking up feral creatures from the forest to take home. But nothing had ever truly shaken them. Not like the way the blood seems to have drained from Yusuf’s face, the way he swears under his breath at he meets Nicky’s eye and has to look away. The lantern light plays on his sharp features, carving out the dark shadows of his cheekbones and the cut of his shoulders.

Yusuf sighs deeply and shakes his head. “Nicky…”

Nicky doesn’t particularly like that tone of voice. It sounds like Yusuf is about to tell him that something is wrong. He doesn’t want anything to be wrong. He wants to sit in this bubble of joy he’s found until it’s all turned to dust. It feels like much too soon for it to shatter.

“Merrick… what he said wasn’t wrong.”

That is when his mind entirely ceases to function properly. “What?”

His eyes are wide and pleading when he turns back to Nicky, full of emotion. Yusuf must have been able to sense the way he tenses, because he faces him fully and tries to keep their hands close to him.

“I had hoped… Well. I had hoped that I’d get to tell you in a better way.” He laughs dryly, mouth twisting in a bare imitation of a smile. “Maybe there’s not a better way. I don’t know.”

He purses his lips. “I have a fiancé.”

In the back of his mind, Nicky is hoping that this is Yusuf’s strange way of proposing. He can tell by the way Yusuf’s eyes are beginning to shine with emotion that it isn’t the case. He can’t speak, can hardly even breathe. Yusuf spares him from having to reply by continuing on.

“You know that Miriam and Edward’s marriage was arranged, right? His parents and ours had been close family friends for years. It made sense, really, to have the oldest son and oldest daughter get together. It was why I moved to New York, to be with my sister up until their wedding.” Yusuf’s voice is small and distant now, the index finger of his free hand tracing over Nicky’s knuckles. “It was while I was there that my uncle and aunt came in contact with the Cargill family. I wasn’t tied down, and didn’t seem to show much interest in it at the time. They have a daughter, named Charlotte. You know how it goes- both families get something out of the deal. We get access to a port, their family line gets an heir in good stock and a percentage of the imports. I’m supposed to marry her in a few months.”

Nicky shakes his head, blinking. “New York? But- we-“

“I know. I know, Nicky.” He makes a noise like he’s been wounded. “Yes, you came- after. But this doesn’t change a thing. I’m not marrying her. I’m not leaving you.”

“But you have not told your family yet?”

Yusuf cringes. “No. I wanted to be sure that that this, _us,_ was something I was ready to commit to long term. And then the time got away from me. I never knew how to start. Miriam is the only one who knows about both Charlotte and you.”

Nicky does his best to breathe deeply, trying to avoid the rising tide of panic that’s swelling in his chest. It’s not working well. The churning, disgusting feeling in his stomach crawls up the back of his throat. “When we started. In Boise- was that… Was I a distraction, then? A chance to disobey your families wishes.”

“ _No._ No, not in a thousand years could you _just_ be anything.” Yusuf’s hand comes up to cradle his face, cold fingers tracing his scar. It’s strangely reminiscent of that night, but instead of sending a thrill up his spine, he can only feel the hollow beating of his heart in his chest. “I have meant every word that I said to you. I love you, Nicolò di Genova. I want to make a life with you.”

“Why?”

It’s not the first time he’s asked that question. Sure, he knows that he loves Yusuf. More than is probably healthy, if he’s being honest. He knows Yusuf loves him too. But he’s never found the reason for it. There truly is no discernable one- it’s not like Nicky has much more to offer him than himself (which hardly seems of an equal value, when he gets Yusuf’s heart in return). Truly, there were no good reasons for Yusuf to tie himself down to a man that should have died half a decade ago.

Yusuf startles, taken aback by his question. “What?”

“I asked you why.” Nicky says bluntly. “ Why do you want to be with me?”

“Because I _love_ you, surely-“

“Love does not make a whole life, Yusuf. It doesn’t even come close. What do I have to give you for the rest of your life?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” Yusuf barks, voice turning harsh. “I am telling you that I want you. I do not _care_ what you have to offer me, beyond yourself.”

“You won’t have children.” He defends. “There is nothing I can give your family.”

“If I wanted children that badly, or if I cared so much of my family’s gains, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Would you?” The skin beneath Nicky’s cheeks is hot and red, like it might slough off at any second. The voice in his head, his old and terrible companion, whispers for the first time in months. “You’ve gone this far in a lie, who’s to say that you wouldn’t have taken this further?”

He’s not being fair, he knows that. His mouth moves beyond his notice, the walls beginning to build themselves back up with the speed of a city preparing for siege. That voice tells him to hide himself away as fast as possible. Yusuf had always been too good to be true, his life too smooth. Who was he to think that he’d ever have that life? Yusuf was looking for a way out of his parent’s expectations- that was perfectly understandable. But he couldn’t allow himself to live that way, loving Yusuf as he does. It would be better if they both got back to reality, where Nicky was alone and Yusuf was a father, a _patriarch_ of his family.

“What kind of man do you think I _am?_ Have I ever given you reason to think that I don’t care for you immensely?”

Nicky sniffs. He’s breathing fast, now. “I know that you are passionate. I know that perhaps, if you could find someone you liked well enough, you would rather marry for that small amount of passion than for a loveless one.”

Yusuf stills, mouth hanging open. The chill has begun to creep up on the both of them, goosebumps pebbling their chests and arms. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that it is not out of the realm of possibility that you are settling.” Nicky swallows. That voice is so much louder now, louder than the blood rushing in his ear, louder than his heartbeat crawling up his throat. The words are out of his mouth before he could possibly even begin to consider them properly.

If you were to ask him why he did it, he wouldn’t be able to give a proper answer. Some part of it was his natural tendency to drive people away. Some of it was out of concern for Yusuf. Most of it was that voice, telling him that it was the only way to survive. If there was no one else with a key to his fleshy center, no hands who could come and squeeze around it, he wouldn’t ever hurt like he had after Antonio. That doesn’t change the fact that he regrets the words almost as soon as they have crossed his lips.

“You should marry her.”

“ _What?”_

“You should marry her.” Nicky begins to stand numbly, suddenly aware of the fact that he’s naked and too exposed. He rushes to collect his shirt and pants from the floor. Yusuf watches from the bed, absolutely stunned.

“Nicky? Stop, Nicky.” Yusuf reaches out to him from his position, pleading. “Don’t go. If we just talk this out-“

“You do talk quite a bit, Yusuf. I wonder, will talking help me forget that you have been engaged for the entirety of our short relationship together?” Nicky snaps, sticking his foot through the leg of his trousers. He straightens when he’s fully dressed, chest aching. For the time being, however, Nicky watches from the outside as this other version of himself commands his body. This man is the killer, the outcast. He imagines the low light makes his scar look even deeper. The sting under his eye makes his face itch. “I think you should go and marry her. You should keep your promises.”

“ _Nicky!_ “ Yusuf practically shouts, swinging his feet up and over the edge of the bed. He rises, in a similar state of undress that Nicky had been in just a moment previous, though he doesn’t seem to have the same self-consciousness. “Will you hear yourself right now? I understand that what I have done was not fair, to either of you, but _please-“_

Nicky is stepping into his boots, moving across the room. He can’t look Yusuf in the eye right now. The voice tells him he shouldn’t, anyway. It will only hurt worse. “I’m going to go home, Yusuf. I hope your trip is pleasant.”

Yusuf grips weakly at his arm, the other hand reaching for Nicky’s face falling away when he wrenches out of his hold. “Don’t do this. Don’t make me leave you.” His voice is breaking, begging him.

“It’s for the best,” Nicky lies. Were he within his own body right now, he’d be crying. Maybe he is. That would explain the way his eyes are burning. He stops, staring at a freckle on Yusuf’s neck. “Go back to New York. Marry your fiancé. And-“ His voice shakes, and he curses himself for showing it. “And forget about me.”

“Nicolò ,”

“Goodnight, Yusuf.”

The cold hits him in a sudden shock, a wave of sensation reawakening his awareness as his feet crush the snow beneath them and compact the ice. Elettra is still waiting nearby, still saddled. She looks at him firmly as he approaches, giving him an inquisitive snort.

“Don’t.”

Nicky knows, logically, that Elettra is a horse, and that she’s hardly capable of higher function and rationality. It doesn’t change the fact that he can sense her disapproval as he hooks his boot into the stirrup and hauls himself up into the saddle. He starts back on the road to the farm, shrinking in on himself.

_What the fuck have I done?_

*

Yusuf tries many times over the next month to speak to him again. He waits at the general store for Nicky to stop by, with Miriam’s disapproving glare following over his shoulder. It’s all he can do to make polite conversation, but he refuses to take any of the letters Yusuf tries to press into his hands or take him up on his offer to explain himself. The man even goes so far as to come to the ranch looking for him. Quynh spends most of her time in the rocking chair on the porch while Andy and Nicky work. She does her best to deter Yusuf with a hard grin that Nicky knows from firsthand experience is far more like a fox baring its teeth. When Yusuf comes, he hides in the stable, pressing his forehead against Elettra’s shaggy winter coat and breathing hard, trying to block out the sound of his voice.

 _Don’t you see I’m trying to spare the both of us?_ Nicky thinks bitterly, listening to his boots drag in the snow as Yusuf mounts his cart and heads back towards town. 

There was nothing to be done about the situation. Yusuf had a duty to fulfill to his family, clearly. What did he have to offer him? Not children, certainly. Not a vital port in an important city, or money. It was better off this way.

The day Yusuf leaves, Nicky doesn’t mean to be in town. He told himself that he wouldn’t watch him go- what would be the point? Was he expecting Yusuf to jump off of his horse at the mere sight of him, to rush into his arms and swear his undying love? That he was just going to go against his family’s wishes and forsake the fiancé back in New York to stay with a random veteran with not much beyond a few cents and a horse to his name?

He’s there anyway, by either random chance or subliminal remembrance. Yusuf’s cart is already packed up with the supplies he’ll need for the month-long journey. Nicky ducks in between buildings, sending up a quick prayer that Yusuf doesn’t spot him.

Of the ones to be answered, Nicky has to wonder why it was _that_ one God picked.

Miriam and Edward are outside the general store wishing him a good trip. Noor is tangled up in Yusuf’s arms, tears streaking down her round cheeks as she moves to bury her face in the crook of his shoulder. He holds her tightly, rubbing her back in calming circles as he speaks to her parents.

The lines around his eyes seem deeper than usual, his features stretched thin. Nicky can’t say he looks sickly- as always, Yusuf is far more radiant and golden than the landscape around him. There still is a sallowness to his complexion that goes beyond physical health or eating well. It is not a feat of great imagination to see that the time since their parting has worn on him- if not in body, then in soul.

Noor lets out another pitiful sob as he moves to put her in her mother’s arms, moving her hair from her face with careful fingers. It’s too far to catch the specific words, but Nicky can tell that he’s trying to reassure her that he’ll be back. Not for many months, likely when the harvest comes in, but he will be back. When he does, Yusuf will have a pretty wife on his arm and a family to start.

Not for the first time, Nicky wonders if he’ll survive seeing Yusuf with someone else. And, not for the first time, he immediately knows the answer is no. If not in body, then in soul.

He turns, presses his back to the outer wall of the building and shuts his eyes, attempting to take in deep breaths. The sound of the wagon train leader calling out for all those travelling east to start their trek rings in the square, along with the sounds of wood groaning and hooves hitting the muck. Above it all, Yusuf’s voice signs his goodbye with a shout in Arabic, something only for his sister.

After a moment, it is quiet. The sounds of the wagon train have faded into the distance as they begin the journey out of town, and all that’s left in their wake is the ambiance of Three Forks and the smell of coal that remains in Nicky’s nose, despite being nowhere near a flame.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him standing like that, trying to catch his breath, before he finally steps out. Time is a strange thing, when not long ago it seemed like there could never be enough of it. Now it’s a dreadfully long-lived thing, to know he must endure it without his own heart in his body. When he does finally step out from his hiding spot, he yelps in surprise at being faced with Yusuf.

Upon further inspection, Nicky assures himself that it’s not actually Yusuf he’s just collided head-on with, but Miriam. It really is shocking how much alike they look at a quick glance, but he’s able to take in the longer curls and the shorter stature fast enough to not make a fool of himself.

“Nicky,” She says, eyes wide. Noor isn’t with her, meaning she must have gone with her father. “You just missed Yusuf. I’m sorry.”

The way her eyes look over him- full of pity, a touch of shame- tells him that she’s not apologizing for his tardiness. He swallows and ignores it anyway.

“I didn’t come for him. I’m just-“ His voice comes out harder than it needs to be. He has to chastise himself, reminding that Miriam wasn’t responsible for her brother’s faults. “I’m just making a run to the shop.”

She is quiet, barely taking her eyes from his. He can see tears beginning to form in them, though he doesn’t know the reason for them. He doesn’t even protest when she surges forward and pulls him into a hug. He falls into it, for the sole purpose of allowing himself to be held for the first time in weeks. It wasn’t something he thought he’d miss, after going without for so many years during the war and the time after, but apparently when Yusuf had reshaped him to be a man capable of being filled with love and hope, he’d also made him ache for other human touch. Hugging Miriam isn’t like hugging Yusuf, not in the slightest. He is utterly grateful for it.

“He’s an idiot,” Miriam says wetly, laughing into his shoulder. “And he didn’t deserve your kindness. If I had thought- Well. I assumed he’d make the right choice.

There is nothing to say to that, and so Nicky doesn’t. He can’t bring himself to correct her, to admit that the only reason Yusuf is leaving is because Nicky sent him away. But he does wrap his arms around her and nods like he understands or agrees (even if the reality is much the opposite). She parts from him with a determined expression.

“You will not let my brother’s poor actions affect our friendship.” She squeezes his arms resolutely. “Noor loves you far too much for that.”

His throat clicks as he swallows. “I will do my best, Miriam.”

She escorts him back to the shop. It only takes one step into it, looking at Noor in her father’s arms and her tear-stained face far too similar to a man he’d rather not see around every corner right now to know that he won’t be able to keep his promise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ......oops?


	8. Unsent Letters

_ Dear Nicky, _

_ I believe I have started this letter five times now. There is never a good way to start it. I feel that my poetry has no place amongst my own crimes and downfall. You deserve far more than that. I should have been blatant with you from the beginning; I can only hope to make up for some of that now. _

_I am sorry I did not tell you of my engagement_ _. I had hoped_ _I had intended_ _\- I know I hurt you. I will never forgive myself for that. You must know that this is not a marriage of love. While I care for Charlotte, in my own way, my soul does not sing for her as it did under your careful touch. Where her eyes seem to glance off me like rain from a roof, yours pierces my heart. I would beg, I would crawl back to Three Forks to have that gaze once again on me._

_ But I also understand that every man has his breaking point. I swear that I hoped to never find yours. I do not blame you for your anger. You are completely justified in it. I can fulfill my vow to my family, and to Charlotte. I suppose you’ve granted me that one honor, even if I don’t deserve it. _

_ Then again, you could say I made a vow to you as well. Not in words, but in the way I allowed you so close to me. How I opened my heart to you and let you do the same. It is an unforgivable act, to betray that trust. I know that. I should have acted upon that,  _ _ especially after learning of Antonio. _

_ I have to hope that when I return, we can still be friends. Or something like it, at least. It would kill my very being to pretend as if we were strangers, knowing you as I do. _

_ I will not send this letter to you. I do not believe any of this will help my case. _

_ Yours, heart and soul, _

_ Yusuf _

_ * _

_ Yusuf, _

_ I worry about your journey east. You are a capable man, but still I worry. It seems silly when you’re leaving to give your heart to someone else. _

_ I can’t help it, Yusuf. You have ruined me completely. I thought I might not love again, after Antonio. But I have, somehow, managed to foster some growth of it in my heart. You know how stubborn of a creature I can be; I doubt I will be able to rid myself of you. _

_ I feel as though I should be able to hate you, for lying to me. I hate myself more for letting you leave. _

_ I am melancholy, these long weeks. I grow tired. Perhaps it is time for me to move on. _

_ -Nicky _

_ * _

_ Nicky, _

_ Why have you come to haunt my dreams of late? Images of your hands around ripe fruit and your lips around the shape of my mouth plague me, even so close to the date of my wedding. Am I never to forget you? Am I to linger in this in-between, where I cannot seem to part from the image of your face even in my sleep, and yet you are not mine? It is a cruel, evil thing, this. A curse, perhaps, laid on me for breaking your heart. I would deserve it. Sometimes I find myself wishing you had tried to kill me or screamed at me when I tried to leave. Perhaps then I might bear some scar on my skin so like your own, of lovers torn apart. I should like to have something to prove to the world what a rotten man I have been, to leave you and scorn Charlotte thus. _

_I find myself wishing to call you “my Nicolò_ _”, but I cannot force myself to pen it outside of hypothetical. I am not worthy of such divine words. You were so willing to call yourself mine, despite me doing nothing to earn that honor. Still, a thousand times I’ve thought to write you, and each time I catch the moment I attempt to address it to “my Nicolò_ _”. That is usually where I stop._

_ I don’t think I can recall weeping so much for another. I promise you, I don’t cry all the time- though you must think so, given the frequency with which you’ve seen it. It does me no good, I know. But I can’t bring myself to stop. _

_ The wedding is only a few days away now. My whole family has sailed in from London, and a few of the wealthier relatives from Tunis have come . My parents, of course, are here as well, staying with my aunt and uncle. They all greet me with such light in their eyes, congratulating me as if I should be celebrating rather than mourning. I do not know how I am to take Charlotte as my wife when I cannot even sleep at night without you to curl myself around. _

_ I miss you, Nicky. Like a piece of myself, I miss you. _

_ Yusuf _

_ * _

_ I had to stop going to the general store. Andy still goes from time to time when she needs something. She gives me the space to avoid Miriam, though I can see how much she hurts for me every time it comes up in conversation. _

_ You know, you and Miriam could have been twins, you look so much alike. It’s too hard not to look at Noor and not imagine what your children will look like. With your wife. _

_ It feels insane, like something a madman would do- continuing to love you so much after what has been said and done. It seems even worse that I thought that it might ever work between us. I told you, Yusuf, I am a curse. I do not think I am meant to be happy. But if you being away from me grants you a good life, then perhaps that is a burden I am willing to bear. You will be a good father, a patriarch of the little family you start. _

_ I can identify, logically, that what you did was wrong. That I was right to be angry. The other part of me mourns letting you leave, when I knew you tried to pick me. That’s what I was waiting for, wasn’t it? For someone to choose me first. But I love you too much to let you marry me, I think. Not when I know you can do better. _

_ I hope you find joy in your life, Yusuf. For my own sake, I hope I am not around to see it. _

_ -Nicky _

_ * _

_ The spring is cold and grey in New York, Nicky. I miss the summer. I miss the steadily rolling hills, the silence that it brought me. I have not known peace since I have left you. I realize, now, that I cannot continue this way. I will go to my mother in the morning. I will tell her of you. And I pray that somehow, my family will not bear the same disgust for me that you likely do. _

_ * _

_ My beloved, my heart, my moon, _

_ For the first time in months, I am invigorated. I told my mother of you, kneeling at her feet in the drawing room of my uncle’s house and weeping into her lap. I told her of your ferocity, and even in the wake of that strength, how deeply your kindness runs. I told her the blue fire with which your gaze burns, how I wished for no other gaze on me for the rest of my days. I told her how never before had I found myself so completely arrested by another soul, and how I knew that I could never be happy with Charlotte. I worked myself into such a state, it was something quite embarrassing. I’m certain you can imagine the tears. _

_ And yet, she raised my head with tears of her own forming and told me the simplest of things. Simple though it was, it still shook me to my core and sent a fresh wave of tears. _

_ “I would have you be happy, my son.” _

_ My father was, apparently, of the same mind. He seems to find you quite the capable suitor from my stories and explained to Charlotte’s father that the marriage could not continue. He took it less well than my parents, and Charlotte herself… it was quite the thing, Nicky, but she was relieved. Apparently I was not the only one to find love outside our engagement- she professed to me her undying affection for one of her childhood friends, who was supposed to be a bridesmaid in the wedding! I would not say I look for words of God in every small movement of the universe, but I see it in this. Surely, this is some sort of sign. You are the only future for me, Nicky. And should you send me away again… well. I will hope you will give me this chance, even if I am not deserving of it. _

_ All this to say- I am headed home as soon as the ground begins to dry out. I am coming, Nicky, and I can only pray that you will deign me worthy enough of you to ask you to marry me. _

_ Yours, ardently, _

_ Yusuf _

_ * _

_ Yusuf, _

_ If you’re reading this, then you’ve returned to Three Forks and come looking for me. I hope you can understand that I believe it is in both of our best interests that we do not see each other anymore. I have left Andromache’s employment, and will be moving on. _

_ I do not think flowery words will benefit the either of us now. Have a good life, Yusuf. For what it is worth, I will continue to love you until the day I die, despite it all. It will always be you, Yusuf. For the rest of my life. _

_ Yours, _

_ Nicolò _


	9. Reunion

_**June 1871** _

It is a long, _long_ journey back to the Idaho Territory. His parents are sad to see him off, and his mother vehemently denies the tears forming in her eyes as he boards the train out to Mississippi, but they both cajole him the whole time in their goodbye with threats that they’ll travel out there themselves if he doesn’t write them soon about this man he seems so in love with. He hugs them both and promises that he will. The entire trip back is marked with thoughts of Three Forks, mudslides, and apples. 

The second Yusuf can see Three Forks on the horizon, he breaks from the wagon train and speeds off on his horse. He’d barely slept the night before, knowing how close they were, and he couldn’t bear to be away for another second more. The only things he leaves behind are his rations, stowed with another young couple’s things in their wagon. He doesn’t have much use for them, as he doesn’t intend to be doing _any_ more travelling for the foreseeable future, and he anticipates that they will be needing it more than he will. He can’t find it in himself to care about much more than Nicky.

It feels like a lifetime since he’d last seen Nicky. He’d counted the days- inadvertently, at first, when he was trying to gauge how long it would be until he was back in New York and was married off. It became habit. Today marked day number ninety, and hopefully the last. He presses the heels of his boots into the side of the sorrel gelding he’d named Pylades, whom he had taken over his old mule for the road back. For a moment, he was almost sorry to say goodbye to the old thing. Then the mule had tried to kick him and nipped at his hands constantly as they went to the seller, and he was more than happy to leave it behind. Pylades was a reliable mount and had taken him this far. If he was tired from the long journey, he didn’t much show it, taking Yusuf’s commands to go _faster_ in stride.

He doesn’t even stop in town to see his sister when they tear through the main road. Sea storm eyes are burning in his head. He aims directly for Andy’s farm. People milling about in the street cry out in surprise as he speeds past them, a few swearing quite colorfully. He doesn’t pay them any mind- he is focused on one task alone.

There are, of course, a thousand doubts flying around his head. Nicky had been the one to send him away, after all. There was absolutely no reason he should want to see him. And Yusuf could hardly blame him, really. He had every right to be angry.

That didn’t change that Nicky was _it,_ for him. If he didn’t at least try, one more time, to truly impress upon Nicky precisely how sure he was that his life without him would be bleak and bland at best, he’d forever be full of regret for not doing so. He would rather go without eyes than see a world without Nicky in it. He’d travel to each and every star if Nicky asked him to.

He had no idea if it would be enough. But he had to _try._ His whole chest burns, as if his heart is trying to sear him open from the inside out so that it can fly ahead of him to where it truly belongs. Yusuf grits his teeth and spurs Pylades on.

Elettra isn’t in her normal pasture at the farm, but Yusuf speeds past it up to the porch of the house. To his luck, Quynh is sitting on the rocking chair outside, watching him with calculating eyes against the bright sun. She looks better than when he last left- the ghost of death no longer looms over her shoulder. Her long black hair is pulled into a braid that rests on her shoulder, and she wears the same riding pants and tucked-in linen shirt as Andy normally does. As he gets closer, he notices the shotgun propped up against the side of the house, near to her arm. She twitches slightly, and he brings his mount to a halt just before the stairs.

He smooths down the front of his shirt and tips his hat to her. “Miss Quynh, pardon my coming without a warning, but I was wondering-”

“Stop.”

Yusuf does, because he would quite like to leave here without getting shot.

She sighs and sinks into the chair. “You’re back.”

“I am.”

“Married?”

He blanches and shakes his head. “No. Though, if he’ll have me, I’d like to be soon.”

“Hmph.” Quynh shifts her gaze out to the pasture nonchalantly. “What makes you think you deserve to ask him? After what happened?”

“I don’t.” Yusuf says honestly. His shoulders drop completely, exhaustion washing over him. It has been a _long_ journey. “I don’t, not in the slightest. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to rectify that. To be worthy of him.”

She seems to consider a long moment. A soft frown ticks the side of her mouth down. Quynh sighs again and stares at him, hard, a look that cuts deep into his soul and probes around at the soft fleshy part of him. “He’s not here.”

“…What?” Yusuf says, panic rising up in his throat. “But- where… where did he-“

“He left Andy’s employment a few weeks ago. Told her he didn’t want to be any more of a burden than he already had been. Merrick’s been sniffing around, you know.” She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “But I think he just didn’t want to see you come back with someone else.”

Yusuf stays silent, a sharp pang running through him. He shuts his eyes tight, praying his breathing would slow down. It hadn’t been long, just a few weeks. Surely he could find out where he’d gone- someone would have to know _something._ He’d search all the way to the Pacific, if he had to.

Quynh appears to take pity on him, her voice softening a bit. “However. He has yet to leave Three Forks. I think he’s trying to decide where to go.” He opens his eyes to look up at her, pleading. “I’ll tell you where, but you make me a promise. And I make you a threat.”

“Agreed. Anything.”

“You convince that _idiot_ to come back. He nearly broke Andromache’s heart, and if he leaves for good I think she’ll suffer for it. Meaning that I’ll have to make him suffer for it.”

Her eyes are steely and dangerous. Yusuf reminds himself that he never, ever wants to be on the receiving end of her true fury. “And the threat?”

“If you hurt him again, I will take this shotgun and make you regret ever moving out here in the first place.”

Yusuf swallows hard, glancing between her and the gun. “Understandable.”

It takes a long moment, but she nods her head as if she’s deemed him acceptable. A wave of relief washes over him, and his hands are already tightening on the reins in preparation to speed off. “He’s camped out on the ridge just west. It looks over the whole town, can’t miss it-“

“I know where it is,” He affirms. He maneuvers Pylades around and looks back over his shoulder. “Thank you, Quynh.”

“Yes, well. Just don’t make me regret it.”

*

The path up the ridge doesn’t take him long at all. Not when he’s speeding as fast as he is, not when he knows what’s waiting for him in the clearing at the top.

It’s impossible not to remember what his first journey up had been like. He couldn’t remember the exact words exchanged, or what all he was feeling. But he remembered the food that Nicky had prepared, and he remembered how beautiful he’d looked in the low light, how softly he’d gazed over at Yusuf. _That_ had been love. That had been the precise moment he knew he was going to spend the rest of his life loving Nicky. He plasters himself closer to Pylades’ body, ducking to avoid a low branch. It’s much nicer in the full summer.

He finds himself wishing he had stayed. Even if he thought Nicky wouldn’t want him, he should have stayed. Tried to convince him that they would work, that they could do it if they just took the chance-

Yusuf shakes his head as they round the last bend. There are many regrets that are simmering away in his mind. Far too many. There will be time for those later, though. He just… he needs to see Nicky. There’s a whole speech he’s got planned out, a grand profession of love. It’s written on a piece of parchment folded up in his pocket. He’s going to read the speech and get on one knee then and there, if Nicky doesn’t send him away first. It’s a plan he’s been formulating since the wedding got called off.

It all goes out the window the second Yusuf actually catches sight of Nicky. 

He rounds a final bend and comes across a small camp at the ridge, consisting of only a small pitched tent, a makeshift firepit, and a tree stump that’s been lugged over to function as a chair. There’s wood shavings around the base of it too, and a half-carved log off to the side. A small cooking spit is simmering over the fire, carrying with it the smell of roasting meats and herbs. For a campsite, it’s not bad. The summer keeps it warm enough and drifts in the smell of the elderflower blooms. Elettra seems happy enough, grazing at a particularly lush patch of grass contentedly.

For Nicky, it’s not nearly enough. It’s paltry. It is _nothing._ He wants to cry out just at the thought that he’s felt the need to run out into the woods just to avoid Yusuf.

The man himself is standing at the entrance to the tent, paused mid-motion. His blue linen shirt is untucked from his worn brown trousers, suspenders hanging off of his shoulders. His hands are dirty from working with the ground, and they’re holding what look to be wild radishes. Nicky is certainly more scraggly than when Yusuf last left him- hair grown out to his shoulders, his beard an unkempt and feral thing. The bags under his eyes have gotten deeper, too. But his eyes haven’t lost a speck of their intensity. Yusuf had tried to sketch them, while he was away, but he realizes that there’s just no doing them justice. Their reserved storm still wages away, threatening to sweep him up along with them.

He’s the most handsome man Yusuf’s ever seen. Because he’s Nicky, because he’s the man who works for the people he loves until he breaks his back and cares for his horse like a friend. He’s Nicky, and Yusuf has never felt more sure that his heart was made to love him.

“Yusuf.” His name comes back as a breath on Nicky’s lips, half-broken. The line of his lips press tight together. “You’ve come back.”

In a singular swift motion, Yusuf dismounts from his horse and begins to cross to Nicky. He stops when the other man takes a step back.

“I’m back,” Yusuf says a little helplessly. He offers a paltry smile.

“You’re earlier than I thought. How was the wedding?”

Nicky’s voice was all wrong. A pale, anemic version of what it should be, and so quiet Yusuf has to lean in just to be certain he’s heard him. It wasn’t _right._ And Yusuf had done this.

“I didn’t have a wedding.” Yusuf says plainly. “I didn’t- I _couldn’t_ go through with it. I told my family that there was a man who had already become everything to me. Everything and more. The very moon that lights up the darkness of night, the warmth in the depth of winter. I told them that there was no one else who could command my heart in such a way. I know that I’m- I’m hardly even worthy of these spare moments of your time that I take. But I would pray that you allow me the chance to make it up to you. Please.”

His face turns up in a bitter scowl, but Nicky doesn’t move away. “As I recall, Yusuf, there were plenty of _chances_ for you to make things right. You chose not to. How can I trust that you won’t make that choice again?”

Yusuf can’t help it, now- that coil in his belly that connects him to Nicky springs back to place and pulls him in. He can feel tears burning his eyes, now, and his knees are dangerously close to buckling. “I can only promise you that I won’t. Beg you for the chance to show you.” He gestures around at the clearing hysterically, laughing like a madman. “I’ll- I’ll build our house. Right here. The one we talked about. Or, if you don’t want to stay, fine. I’ll go with you. Back to Italy, if you like. Or the end of the earth. I will go.”

Another step closer. They’re not far now, maybe a foot between them. Every inch burns him like something he’d never thought he’d need, but could never live without.

“I don’t want to trust you.” Nicky says. To anyone else, they may not be able to see past his façade, past the hard exterior he’s set his face into. To Yusuf, he can hear the desperation in his voice. His lip begins to wobble. Yusuf fights against the urge to reach out to him, to smooth his tears away and bring him close. “I don’t know if I _can._ I can’t- I can’t give you anything. I can’t give you the life you deserve. I can’t promise that there won’t be reasons to find someone else.”

“ _Nicky,”_ Yusuf pleads. _Fuck it,_ he needs to touch him. He takes Nicky’s free hand, with no resistance. He holds it up against his own chest tenderly, as if he might be able to let Nicky push all the way through and feel how each beat of his heart repeats his name. “How can I tell you that there will be no other for me? I don’t care what you think you can offer me. I don’t want my love to be a- a business transaction! I want to love you until we’re both dust. I want to marry you and call you my husband, Nicolò di Genova.”

The breath Nicky lets out is shaky, unsteady. He lets the radishes drop as if they’d never been there in the first place and grips Yusuf’s shoulder, pressing their foreheads together. They both let out honest sobs this time, both from the contact and from how long they’d been away from each other. Yusuf’s other hand cups Nicky’s face.

It’s a long, long time before either of them speaks again. They’re both caught up in the distraction of holding each other, in being close. Yusuf tries to memorize the smell of Nicky- he’d almost forgotten it, and it sends his heart fluttering up again. Leather, and the smell before a storm. Sweat and labor and the earth. Nicky, Nicky, Nicky, in his hands.

Nicky sniffles, and they back up enough to look each other in the eye. He shakes his head. “I need- I need _time.”_ He admits. “I thought I had it in me to love someone else, but I don’t think I can, yet. Give me time. And let me do this on my terms”

“I’d wait for you as long as you asked. A millennium, if you wanted.” Yusuf says. “Just promise me you wont leave.”

“I won’t leave. I was trying to spare Andromache the expense of keeping me around. With the money from Quynh’s last bounty and without me to pay, they will be alright. I can find work elsewhere.” 

“Come to work with me in the forge then.”

Nicky sighs. “Yusuf…”

“No, no,” He stops him, keeping him close. “ _This_ is a business opportunity. I will need a decent farrier if the forge is to be a success, and everyone in town already relies on you for that. Please. You can continue to live at the farm, if you would like. Or you could take the shack, and I would sleep in the forge.”

Another long bought of silence. Long enough that he’s terrified that Nicky’s about to change his mind and take off running. “Alright.” He laughs wetly, shaking his head. “I’m starting to think you might’ve been plotting about ways to keep me around.”

Yusuf smiles widely, so wide it _hurts._ “I have spent the last _ninety-one_ days coming up with all the ways I could make our lives work together. Plans that I am more than willing to act on.”

“…One more condition.”

“Anything.”

“Kiss me, again. So I can make sure it still feels the same.”

It’s hardly even a request. Yusuf leans in and connects their lips. Nicky’s are chapped, and he can taste blood with how much he’s worried the bottom one with his teeth, but it’s perfect. A completion, an _expansion_ of himself.

Nicky pulls back, eyes still closed before he nods. His cheeks are flushed wonderfully pink. “Yes. Alright.” His eyelids flutter as they open. “I love you. For what it’s worth. I can’t- I don’t know if I know what that means. Or how to accept that you love me. But I do.”

Yusuf steals another kiss, just because he can, just because he feels he might die if he doesn’t. “I love you, Nicky. With all of myself, I do.”

“Come.” Nicky says, taking his hand. “Tell me about your travels.”

“You want to hear about those?”

“More than anything. I’d also like to hear the story of you telling your parents, if you don’t mind.”

Yusuf grins. “Oh, Nicky, you’ll hardly believe it-“

He begins to recount his months away, with far more excitement in retelling then he did in living. Nicky serves them both dinner, listening quietly. In times of pause, they kiss again. Yusuf’s hand locks with Nicky’s, and they don’t let go.

Somewhere, inside of both of them, the storm is waging. But neither finds themselves swept away with the wind, or washed up into the shore. They are clinging to each other’s moorings, secure in the ropes they find there. All is not as it was, and it won’t be, Yusuf knows that. Far too much has happened for that. But they _will_ build something here. Yusuf vows to himself, right there, watching the setting sun catch gold fire in Nicky’s hair, that he will stay by his side until the very end.

He does not know this now, but Nicky makes himself the same promise.


	10. Epilogue

_**October, 1874** _

Nicky has come to love a great many things about Yusuf. His bedhead in the morning, for one, and how his curls spring in every which-way. He loves the way his mouth opens slightly when he sleeps, and the little noises his dreams draw up from him. He  _ definitely  _ loves the small noises of content that Yusuf lets out whenever he cuddles closer into Nicky, wrapping his arms around his chest and drawing him closer.

What Nicky has  _ not  _ come to appreciate, however, is Yusuf tucking his cold feet up against the backs of his legs, attempting to suck the warmth from him after getting up for his morning prayer. The chill of the morning air drifts in through the open window. He frowns at it through half-lidded eyes, starting at the few pine tree branches he can see through it against the sky. Vaguely, he can remember rising to open it last night after a particularly… rigorous evening of lovemaking and curses his past self for not thinking to close it.

It’s still early in the day, but he can already feel the many things there are to be done gathering together like droplets in a bucket, until he finally groans and turns over to look at Yusuf.

He is, unsurprisingly, still fast asleep. It’s a little astounding, actually, the man’s ability to sleep no matter the conditions. Nicky simply just didn’t need much, therefore he did not get much. Yusuf, however, was in a foul mood in the mornings if woken too early, and the only way to coax him into agreeable society was to make him a breakfast of salted beef and eggs from the chickens, brought along with a cup of mint tea. After that, of course, he would be perfectly agreeable, leaning his head up for a kiss as Nicky passed.

They have become remarkably domestic, over the past three years. It’s baffling to him at times, how naturally they seem to exist with each other now. He supposes that they’ve always blended together around the edges in some way or another, somehow always managing to move in tandem. Now it exists more freely- now, when Nicky wants to stare, he can stare. When he wants to kiss Yusuf, he wraps his arms around the man’s waist and tugs him in so that they’re both smiling into it, more teeth then lips but still perfect every time.

It’s  _ easy  _ to love Yusuf. Learning how to let himself love had been harder. Shedding the old skin had been itchy and uncomfortable and downright painful at times, but it has been so worth it. Because now he lays next to Yusuf, and there’s a small box with a ring inside hidden in between the wooden slats of Elettra’s stable, and for the very first time in Nicky’s life he can say for certain that he has a purpose on this earth, God-given or not.

It is to love and be loved by Yusuf.

He traces Yusuf’s face with his eyes, softening as his gaze sweeps down in soft strokes to take in the delicate cheekbones, the straight and narrow nose. He connects the dots between the freckles on his cheeks, stopping short when they dip below his beard. Nicky knows how soft that beard is, can still smell the lightly perfumed oil he rubs into the curls to keep them tame and wrangled.

“Time to get up,  _ amore mio.”  _ Nicky says softly, letting his fingers come up to hold his lover’s face. Yusuf, almost on cue, makes an annoyed grunt and attempts to hide his face completely in Nicky’s hand. “Come now, Booker will be by in the morning to pick up that order for Nile. We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“Booker can wait as long as he likes, you’re  _ warm,”  _ Yusuf whines, toes scrabbling beneath the covers to find their way between Nicky’s legs.

“I don’t think so.” He pulls his legs away, throwing back the sheets. He can’t stifle the chuckle that comes up at watching a cold shudder wrack through Yusuf, who pouts childishly at him and cracks his eyes open slightly to glare. “Up. I’m going to go make breakfast. Will you check on the goats?”

“Hm. You mean the  _ devils  _ you insist on keeping around.”

“They’re a good source of food and they keep the grass from overgrowing in the pasture. You weren’t complaining when we had goat’s cheese with dinner the other night.”

Yusuf snorts, but does begin to pull his legs out of bed with another shudder. Nicky turns his back to him on his own side of the bed and pulls his socks on, as well as one of his newer pairs of trousers and a shirt without any holes (it is his  _ only  _ shirt without holes, a fact which Yusuf teases him mercilessly about, but he hasn’t found the time of late to go through and do the mending).

“Someone’s dressing up. Are we having dinner somewhere tonight?”

Nicky glances back over his shoulder in an attempt at nonchalance and shrugs. “No, just wanted to look a little nicer today.”

“You always look nice to me,  _ hayati.”  _ Yusuf says with a grin, doing the buttons up on his shirt. He gives him an evaluating glance, and while Nicky has long since stopped getting embarrassed at the open appreciation, he has never stopped managing to get flustered. “Remind me to get you a proper tailored suit sometime.”

“You do keep trying.”

“Hm. Well if  _ someone  _ would let me spend money on him-“

“Yusuf.” Nicky stops him gently. “I have everything I need. You built me a  _ house,  _ I hardly need anything else.”

“You seem to forget that you were actually the one that did most of the building.”

He waves him off. “We built it together. Now come on. The goats will like you better if you don’t take a hundred years to feed them.”

Yusuf grumbles something underneath his breath about not needing the approval of those cloven-hoofed  _ bastards  _ before tugging his boots on and throwing his jacket over his shoulders, sparing another kiss for Nicky’s cheek before stepping through the creaking wooden door into the yard. Nicky laughs and smiles brightly after him before moving over to the range, and stoking the fire within it, adding fresh wood from a pile stacked against the nearby wall. Through the window above it, he can see Yusuf pulling aside the makeshift gate that makes the pasture with a bucket of their feed mix. The goats- of which there are three, all with a mottled grey pattern to them- all crowd around his legs. He moves one gently back so that he can get to their trough, but another uses that opportunity to run in between his feet, almost tripping him up. Nicky can’t hear him through the window, but he can tell by the way his arm moves at the goat that he’s swearing at it in no less than three languages. Nicky snorts to himself at the sight, putting the kettle that’s still half-full from the night previous back on and looking around at their dried meats to see what they have to make a decent breakfast.

Yusuf comes back in grumbling, cushioning a few eggs stolen from the chicken coop in the front of his shirt. They eat a simple breakfast, with the two of them sitting across from each other and making small talk about the weather and the forge- Nicky goes on a particularly sour spiel about Mr. Fallon, who complained that he was taking too long cleaning out his horse’s hooves and getting them reshoed, and Nicky had to kindly remind him that, unless he wanted to do it himself, he could  _ hold his horses.  _ Yusuf laughs, but Mr. Fallon most certainly did not. Nicky had thought himself quite clever.

The morning passes in the sweet and cool mist in which it normally does- once breakfast is done and the morning chores and caring of the animals seen too, both of them head out to the small stable just off to the side of their house to saddle their mounts. As is customary, Yusuf takes a brief moment when he walks out to step all the way to the edge of the ridge, looking out over the town below them with a satisfied expression on his face.

The spot had just seemed apt, once they had decided they were finally going to build a proper home together (after only three months of Nicky living in that dusty old shack with him. It had only been charming for the first week, before he started to complain that the walls had more holes than his shirts). It was a relatively open patch of land, good for the smaller garden that Nicky kept his vegetables in as well as a small pasture and stable for the horses and the goats. The home itself was quite simple, with a single floor. There were three rooms, consisting of the general living space and the kitchen, their bedroom with the large fluffy bed that Nicky had argued against for the expense at first but had since grown to adore, and a spare room they were calling a guest room. Nicky didn’t like to go in there much. Being in it reminded him of one thing he’d never be able to give Yusuf. He’d never expressed a great disappointment for not having children, but he could sense it whenever he was with Noor. Yusuf mostly uses it to store his art supplies, and Nicky is grateful for it.

Today, when Yusuf is finished saddling Pylades and has his hat squared away on his head, he looks confusedly over at Nicky, who is idling by Elettra’s side and brushing the same spot over.

“Idling this morning  _ ya amar?  _ Is everything alright?”

“Hm? Yes, _s_ _._ ” Nicky ways the brush around dismissively. “I have some business to get done in town, I will be late going into the forge, if that is alright.”

“Of course. Anything I can help with?”

“No, I can handle it myself. Go open the forge, my heart, I’ll join you soon.”

Yusuf shrugs, but concedes anyway. With a tilt of his hat goodbye, Yusuf digs his heels into Pylades’ side and takes off down the winding road back to town, out of sight in less than a minute.

Nicky blows out his cheeks and lets himself drop the brush as soon as he’s gone, rushing to find the cranny he’d hidden the box in a few days earlier. Elettra makes a very affronted noise, very clearly not happy at being abandoned. He ignores her and wiggles his fingers into the small crack before prying the board up. He retrieves the box and clutches it close. He has to lift the lid, just for a moment, just to ensure it’s real.

The ring is simple- simpler than Yusuf deserves, probably, but it was what Nicky could afford, and was the only one he had seen out of the travelling jeweler’s collection that fit in the slightest. The band was wide and clean silver, engraved around both edges. In the center sat a small opal that gleamed a thousand different colors in the light. Old insecurities remind him that Yusuf could have likely been buying himself diamonds by the pound, if things had turned out differently, but he shakes them away just as fast. It has been long enough that he is secure in them, now. Yusuf’s heart beats in time with his, and they have agreed that there will be no other person for either of them.

Of course, Yusuf has allowed him his grace. He barely approached Nicky at all beyond what work at the forge required for those first few months after his return, always waiting for Nicky to come to him. It was a strange game of becoming reacquainted with one another. Nicky had been the one to ask to move in with him, though Yusuf did nothing less than burst into happy tears at the suggestion, picking him up and twirling him around. The house had been Nicky’s suggestion too, but he knew Yusuf had been making plans for a long time before that.

This would be Nicky’s choice, too. Yusuf knew that Nicky loved him, that they would spend their lives together. But he was far more careful now, allowing Nicky to call the shots. He was infinitely grateful for his love’s conscientiousness and was quite thankful for it more than once. It had allowed Nicky to become the person he is with undue rush- the kind of man that trusts in love, can feel it’s tangible pull. But, he had realized something one morning, getting out of bed and listening to the bones in his knees creak as he stood up out of bed- time waited for no one, and neither of them could be considered particularly young anymore. Nicky wanted every second he could get with Yusuf, and while marriage may not give them more time, it would give Nicky the ability to call him his husband for the rest of their lives. That alone was worth a thousand years.

He snaps the small wooden ring box shut and tucks it into his pocket, worrying his lower lip. Tonight, he was going to ask Yusuf to marry him. But first, he had some stops to make.

*

Yusuf likes working at the forge. He really, truly does. There’s something about shaping the metal and forming it to his will, the strike of the hammer while the steel is hot that feels positively necessary to him, like any act of creation. The customers help as well, people who walk in with smiles and share about their lives while they pick up their orders or place new ones, gossiping about how this child found the creek over by the split tree and now they wont stop coming home with mud all over them, and how so-and-so  _ finally  _ managed to get their act together and propose. It makes it worthwhile to see so many people going about their lives, even in these brief snapshots.

This does not change, however, that Yusuf does not have boundless energy, and metalworking is  _ tiring.  _ By midday, Nicky hasn’t shown up, his back is aching,  _ and  _ he manages to overwork the ingot he’d been shaping into a spade head, leaving it inoperable until he melts it down and recasts it again. He groans and steps away from the hearth, wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Yusuf is not  _ cranky,  _ per se, because he is not Noor when she’s been told she can’t go play in the fields next to the forest edge, but he is certainly bordering on it.

Booker bundles in just as Yusuf steps behind the counter to talk to Marnie, nearly as sweaty as Yusuf is and twice as flushed. The Frenchman’s eyes are wide, and he looks to be nearly on the edge of a panic attack.

“Booker, are you alright? You look like someone just told you the law was after you. Again.” Yusuf tries to joke, wanting to lighten his friend’s mood.

The man just rolls his eyes. “Do you have that order I placed? The…” He gestures in the air broadly as if that somehow clarifies things. “The one.”

Yusuf chuckles and reaches under the counter for the briefcase, sliding it over to him. “Right here. Everything should be in order, but I advise you to check before you go running out of here.”

Booker hastily snatches the case up and turns it toward him, throwing open the locks. From where he stands, Yusuf can’t see the contents, but he knows well what it contains- he’d made them, after all.

Booker grins at the new set of surgical tools, scoffing with relief. “They look great, Yusuf. I don’t know why I was worried.”

“But of course, my friend. Tell me, do you plan on giving these to the good doctor on her birthday?” Yusuf pries. He grins evilly and leans closer. “Given, though, that her birthday was months ago, and no other holidays of gift-giving are nearby, could this perhaps be the gift of a… paramour?” He wiggles his eyebrows at the last line, laughing with his whole belly at the way Booker’s face lights up a whole new shade of scarlet.

“ _ Paramour _ … I swear, I will be getting you back for that. Don’t forget that Miriam still owes me one from the afternoon I spent watching over Noor, I’m sure there’s no end to the ammunition she could give me on you.”

Yusuf chuckles his threat away happily. “And embarrass me in front of who? I promise you, Nicky has heard the worst of me, and he still goes to sleep with me at night. It’s a miracle.”

He takes in the way Booker has withdrawn into himself, watery blue eyes gone distant somewhere within the case. “She’ll love them, Book. I can promise you that.” He says softly. “And I’m quite sure she likes  _ you.” _

“How can you know?” Booker’s voice sounds broken, hoarse in the middle like it’s crossed a desert to get the words out.

Yusuf thinks back to the many times he’s seen Booker and Nile in action, the two of them operating in tandem on a broken leg or the administering of medicine. The number of times one will stare at the other when they think they aren’t being watched, the lingering touches when their hands happen to meet. The way Nile’s eyes light up every time Booker offers to walk her home, and the disappointment when he doesn’t. The whole town knows, at this point. Yusuf wonders, idly, if he and Nicky were ever that bad.

( _ The answer is yes. Unbelievably, stupidly yes.) _

“I just know. Trust me on this one, Book. Have I ever steered you wrong?” Booker opens his mouth to speak. “Actually, don’t answer that. Just take the case and go find her. And tell her your feelings while you’re at it.”

Booker glowers at him, but snaps the case shut and picks it up gingerly, as if the instruments inside were made of glass rather than steel. “I will be doing no such thing.” He says haughtily. He turns to go on his heel, stalking towards the door, but pauses on his way out. “Yusuf?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For… Thank you.”

“Any time Book. Now go. And if you see Nicky, tell him to come in!”

_ Where could he be? _

_ * _

Nicky doesn’t get back out to the ranch nearly as often as he’d like, these days. The forge and the work that comes with it keeps him busy, and before that, every spare moment he had was spent building the house alongside Yusuf. He sees Andy and Quynh every so often, mostly when business calls for him to go out and shoe their horses or they come into town for their semi-regular dinners at Miriam and Edward’s, but it’s not enough. He misses the both of them dearly, even if they aren’t that far.

It’s why, that day, he rides out to the farm, finding Andy training one of the younger mares, her bright and loud voice cutting through the air sharply, calling out commands. Quynh sits on the fence nearby, watching with a keen eye. He and Elettra stall not far off, simply watching.

Quynh had yet to take another bounty hunting job since the last. She kept saying that she would get back to it eventually, once someone offered her enough money, but that job hadn’t come yet. Nicky was beginning to suspect that it might just be for good. There had been a change about her since her injury- that endless restlessness, that sense of a bird fighting against a cage had gone. Now, she seemed… tired. Tired, but content. The gunshot wound left her with a permanent ache in her side and a tendency to go easily out of breath. Nicky thought that part of her reluctance to admit her retirement was, in part, also a reluctance to acknowledge that it hindered her in any way.

Nicky lets Elettra fall into her regular spot, giving her a quick pet after he dismounts before coming to put his foot up on the railing of the fence next to Quynh. She gives him a sideways glance, her mouth ticking up in the corner. The wind blows her black hair in a wild tornado around her.

“Didn’t expect to see you today, little brother,” She says lightly. “Don’t tell me that  _ you’re  _ going to run away this time?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, face lighting up in a blush. “No, no one should be running away. As far as I know.” Nicky sighs and inclines his head towards the mare. “Who’s this one? She doesn’t look familiar?”

“Andy named her Datura. She’s Baklava’s daughter, plus that mare that the Thompsons let us breed him with. There’s a younger one named Augusta, but she’s not ready for training just yet. They’re both supposed to go back to the Thompsons when they’re old enough, but…” She trails off, taking in Andy’s serene expression as she looks back over at them and halts the horse in its motions, smiling as she scratches the underside of its jaw lightly. “I have a feeling one of them might end up sticking around.”

Nicky snorts, knowing full well the reason Andy had as many horses as she did was due to her getting overly attached when breeding for clients.

The woman in question jogs over to meet them happily, raising her eyebrows up at him as she approaches. Nicky can feel the teasing tone in her voice before he even hears it. “Look at you, Nicky,  _ very  _ put-together this morning.” She quickly rises up on her tiptoes to kiss Quynh on the fence. “You’re actually going to do it then.”

“Of course. Were you really that afraid that I wasn’t?”

Quynh starts. “Well-“

“You have a tendency to self-sabotage.” Andy says bluntly. “We were just wondering if that would get the better of you.”

Nicky splutters a bit, knowing that she’s absolutely right without wanting to outright admit it. “Clearly it hasn’t.”

Quynh excitedly asks to see the ring, and gingerly Nicky takes the box out of his pocket and lets the two of them look it over. He’s a bit embarrassed at first that it’s nothing fancy, but Quynh gasps a little, and Andy clasps him on the shoulder.

“He’s going to  _ love  _ it, Nicky.” Andy gets him to hold her gaze. Rarely does Andy force eye contact on anyone- most of all him- and he’s taken aback by the intensity.

Very few had been kind to him when he first turned up in Three Forks. Quynh and Andy had taken him in without reservation. Somehow, they’d trusted him even when he was scraggly-looking and barely grunted out more than a few words at a time. He would always owe them for that- even if they denied it with their final breaths. More than that, however, they’re his  _ family.  _ Not by blood, perhaps, but he never believed in the water of the womb being thicker than the covenant anyway.

He pulls Andy into a hug, grinning just to himself when she tenses for a moment in surprise before hugging him back. “How did you know you were ready?” He whispers.

Andy pulls back. She and Quynh share a look- the kind that’s a whole conversation in the span of thirty seconds. He hopes that he and Yusuf start doing that (though, really they already do- it drives Marnie absolutely wild when they communicate like that in the forge and forget to key her in on what’s just been agreed.

“You just… do.” Andy offers helpfully.

Quynh rolls her eyes at her wife. “There comes a point when you realize that you might as well. Either things will work out from that point, or they won’t.” Her gaze stays fixed on Andy as she talks, her voice practically bubbling over with how fond it is. “You have to make the leap and trust that whatever happens will be for the best.”

“As I recall, it wasn’t a leap of faith. It was you nearly  _ dying  _ and Andy dragging you to the courthouse.”

“Yes, steal all the romance from the grand proposal I planned.” Andy crosses her arms and pouts playfully. “Tell me how you plan to woo Yusuf off of his feet again?”

At that, Nicky’s face takes on a mischievous grin. “Ah, that I believe is going to remain secret. I wouldn’t want to jinx myself.”

“Not even for us?” Quynh whines.

“This is my proposal you’re talking about. No, not even for you all.”

Andy releases him from her hold and holds him at arms length. That gaze returns again, and while Nicky is not the sort of man to cry easily, he could feel tears stinging behind his eyes. He blinks rapidly to keep them at bay. “You deserve this happiness, Nicky. I’m glad you’re letting yourself have this.”

His voice is cloyed with emotion. “ _ Andy-“ _

“Hm? I don’t think I said a thing.” She pats his arm hard enough that it’s really more of a slap, that if it carried any more force it would leave bruises. She helps Quynh down from the railing, letting her wife use her arm to steady herself on her feet. “Go be with your man, Nicky.”

Quynh grins. “And come back here to tell us every single detail the minute you’re done celebrating by breaking your headboard.”

“Quynh!”

“What?” She says innocently, knowing full well what she’s done. “Oh, alright. Go propose. Good luck, little brother. Not like you need it.”

*

Yusuf groans as he straightens his back, taking a deep breath. He stares at the box in front of him with a fiery hatred, the muscles in his arms and shoulders burning in a similar displeasure. Marnie, who is sitting behind the counter woefully unimpressed, looking up from her book, quirks an eyebrow.

“Not a word.” He mumbles. The box of raw materials sits there mocking him. Judging him. He can  _ feel  _ its ridicule.

“Mr. al-Kaysani,” Marnie says slowly, trying to hide her laughter. “Are you attempting to intimidate the steel.”

“Yes. It’s a tried and true method of metalwork, believe me. A skilled blacksmith can simply stare at a lump of metal and have it turn to a pile of perfectly made nails.”

She pauses, waiting a few seconds before replying with the biggest shit-eating grin he’s ever seen on her face. “These seem to remain in very distinctly un-nail shapes. Perhaps you are not as good of a blacksmith as you thought you were.”

Yusuf narrows his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “Remind me why I keep you around?”

“Because you and Mr. Nicky are too busy to do the daily sums yourselves.”

“Ah. Right.” He soothes his lower back with a hand, rubbing deep circles into the tender muscles before looking around. The forge was exactly how he left it before meeting the new shipment of metals- that is to say, distinctly without Nicky in it. He frowns, having been looking forward to seeing his lover when he returned and greeting him with a kiss on the cheek.

Nicky is almost  _ never  _ away this late, especially not if he promises he’ll be in. Yusuf doesn’t like to fret too much, and he’s been very good at allowing Nicky his space, but he can’t help the roiling tide of anxiety that’s building up in his gut. Something could have happened to him, or he could have run away again, or found bandits he couldn’t out-draw (a common nightmare of Yusuf’s).

He forces himself to take a deep breath in, putting the thoughts at bay. The most likely scenario was that Nicky had stopped to help someone on his way between errands. The townsfolk had opened up to him a great deal more once they saw how Yusuf doted on him- and, perhaps, because of how much Yusuf sung Nicky’s praises as a hard worker and a good soul to any and all that would listen when Nicky was out of earshot. In return, it wasn’t uncommon for him to stop to retrieve livestock that had escaped, or help carry some heavier packages back to a home, or give someone a lift on Elettra to wherever they were headed. The thought makes Yusuf smile, knowing his tender-hearted Nicky.

Truly, he did not know what he had done to deserve this man,

“Mr. al-Kaysani?”

Yusuf’s face snaps back up towards Marnie, face a little slack and nearly disoriented with how lost he’d gotten in his own thoughts. She points behind him and motions for him to turn. He follows her instruction and feels his heart seize up in his chest, completely arrested with fondness.

Nicky leans in the doorway, head cocked down so that his hat won’t get caught on the edge and a giant grin spreading across his face. It’s wonderfully lopsided, crowding more up on the right side of his face like he’s trying to bare his teeth. Yusuf can feel himself swooning- he hasn’t  _ stopped  _ swooning for the past three years.

“Sorry I am late  _ tesoro, _ ” Nicky says softly from his relaxed position at the door. “I got caught up at the ranch.”

Yusuf raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you let me break my back alone here just so you could go catch up with Andy?” Marnie attempts to raise her objection at being left out, but a single look her way is enough to quiet her.

“I didn’t. Quynh was there too.” Yusuf is about to swat him on the shoulder for the sass, but Nicky pushes off the wall and closes the distance between them before he can think to argue. Yusuf can feel Nicky’s broad, warm hands coming to settle on his hips and feels a licking flame begin to wake up in his belly. It only grows more when they kiss, deeply, like it’s either the last or the first. Yusuf is equally confused by both options, but is  _ certainly  _ not complaining.

They part with a mutual sigh, paired with the dulcet tones of Marnie retching somewhere in the background. Nicky tilts their foreheads together. Yusuf has to calm himself down before his mind starts getting overwhelmed, but  _ God  _ he loves this man.

“Hm. I suppose we should be getting back to work.” Yusuf says disappointedly. He’d quite like to continue holding Nicky right now, rather than move that box to sit with the rest of the metal.

“Actually, I think you should take an early day. Ride back home with me.”

“Nicky, my heart, you know I would love to-“

“No,  _ but  _ nothing.” Nicky says swiftly. “Has it been particularly busy? Do you have orders to fill?”

“Well-“

“That you can work on right now?”

Yusuf sighs haughtily in defeat. “No, then. Mrs. Harris has yet to come by and approve the mock-up of hers.”

“Good.” Nicky begins moving around the shop, with Marnie not far behind him, and with a speed seldom seen with the two of them (Marnie, specifically), they begin to close up the shop. As Yusuf watches, he realizes that some things have already been completed, like the sweeping and the organization of the nails and general stock. He shakes his head at the two of them.

“ _ Conspirators.” _

They both laugh at him and pass by in a blur. Before he can barely lug the box he’d abandoned into its proper place, Nicky is already standing by the door, Marnie waving goodbye as she walks back down the road to her mother’s farm.

Nicky locks the door behind Yusuf and helps him don his coat. Yusuf chuckles. “Alright, Alright. What are we in a rush for?”

“We are in a rush because dinner is going to be taking a bit longer tonight.”

“What’s the occasion? Did I miss an anniversary of something?”

He shakes his head and smiles mysteriously, letting the side of his mouth curl. He laces his and Yusuf’s hands together as they walk out to greet their mounts, both tied not far from the front of the forge. “No, don’t worry about that. Perhaps I just wanted to treat you to a meal and a nice evening.”

“So you’re promising me a  _ nice evening,  _ are you?” Yusuf teases.

“Oh, get on the horse. Maybe I’ll go home alone and eat by myself.”

“Hm.” Yusuf stops them in their tracks, pulling Nicky’s lips to meet his. “You love me.”

Nicky’s eyes are shining, pale with the light sun. “You’re right. I do.”

*

The meal goes to plan, which is step one of the process crossed off with success. Nicky hadn’t been afraid Yusuf would hate the food, or anything of that nature, but he wanted it to be good, wanted the whole night to be special, and making sure he enjoyed his meal was a keystone to that. It had taken a few hours to prepare, and no shortage of whacking Yusuf on the back of the hand with his spoon for trying to steal bites before it was ready, but it appeared to have paid off.

He seemed surprised that Nicky had bought lamb from the butcher, and even more surprised that he’d managed to find couscous all the way out here (really, he’d had Miriam pull a shipment during her round of reordering materials for the shop. There was now quite a large sack of it sitting in their food cellar). Still, he nearly moans with delight when he tastes it, leaning back in his seat and fully enjoying it. Nicky eats as well, but it feels perfunctory. His satisfaction comes in watching Yusuf inhale his meal like it’s the only thing he’s ever tasted.

Afterwards, they move to the porch, where a cushioned bench seat has been placed so they might enjoy the cool air. It’s been a warmer autumn this year, but as soon as the sun sets the familiar chill and the shadow of winter creeps back in. Nicky hauls one of their large, wooly blankets out with them, as well as fresh apples and honey. Yusuf stares at the fruit in his hand with a playful expression on his face and allows himself to be handfed, leaning back against Nicky’s chest as they both look over the ridge.

Once they’ve both had their fill of the sweet fruit, Yusuf makes himself more comfortable under the blanket, drawing Nicky’s arms around him. He takes the opportunity to tuck his nose into Yusuf’s beautiful dark curls, closing his eyes and breathing in the smell of sweat and the forge, and something herbal that he knows is the oil he rubs into his hair to keep it in good order. He hugs Yusuf against him tighter to mask the sudden onset of nerves that have come, causing his fingers to shake.

Yusuf yawns in his hold. “If your goal was to get me to fall asleep outside, you’ve just about succeeded. I think I’m half a moment away from passing out.”

“Not yet.” Nicky says gently. He turns Yusuf in his grip, moving him so that they can face each other. He almost regrets it and wishes he’d chosen to do this without looking him in the eye. They’re sparkling, as they always do, looking at him with nothing but warmth (and, perhaps, a twinge of confusion). “One thing, and then we can go to bed.”

His eyebrows draw together. “Of course. Is everything alright?”

And that won’t do, that won’t do at all. Nicky doesn’t want him concerned, or fearful of anything right now. He brings their lips together ever so softly, tasting the honey that sticks to Yusuf’s bottom lip and on his tongue. It takes nearly all his willpower to separate and not chase as much of that flavor as he can. There will be time for that later. He fishes in his pocket and pulls it out, but keeps it hidden beneath the blanket.

“I am not as good with words as you are,  _ tesoro, _ ” Nicky starts. Yusuf opens his mouth to object, but he doesn’t let him get a word in. “It’s true. You are a beautiful poet. I can’t match you in that way. Not just a poet, but an artist, a sculptor, a blacksmith, a merchant. I’m beginning to wonder what it is you  _ can’t  _ do. My point, though, is that words don’t do my heart justice, and you’ll have to forgive me for that.”

Yusuf’s eyes are shining. He motions for Nicky to continue, wrapping his hand around Nicky’s knee.

“It shouldn’t have taken this long, really. I knew you were the only man I’d ever love with my entire soul almost from the moment I first spoke to you.” He chuckles awkwardly and stares into his hands. “But I wanted to be sure of us. I wanted to be sure that I wouldn’t be hurt again. That I was a man worthy enough to ask you. I don’t even know if I’m worthy now. But I realized that I simply cannot wait any longer.”

He pulls the box out from under the blanket, giving a moment to gauge Yusuf’s reaction when he opens the lid. His lover takes a shaky breath in, staring at it with wide eyes. He can see tears collecting, and Nicky hastens to finish the speech he prepared. He knows, from experience, that it doesn’t take very long of Yusuf crying for Nicky to start joining him, and he would like to actually get through asking the whole question before they’re both sobbing messes.

“Yusuf al-Kaysani, you are the love of my life. You never cease to amaze me with your kindness, your heart. You have brought meaning to me in a way I had never imagined.” His voice, the traitorous thing, begins to wobble. His own eyes begin to burn. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my husband.”

“Nicolò di Genova,” Yusuf says, pretending to be stern around the giant starburst smile that’s affixed to his face. “You don’t even have to ask. Yes, in every lifetime, every century,  _ yes.” _

The tears finally begin to fall, for them both. Their lips meet, more just pressing together than a true kiss as they begin to devolve into happy sobbing. There’s snot everywhere, Nicky’s sure, and his fingers hurt from how hard he clutches the box, but it’s perfect. It’s Yusuf in his arms, his  _ fiancé,  _ so it’s perfect. When they break, it’s to slip the ring onto Yusuf’s finger, admiring the pearlescent hue shimmering off of the sunset and his skin.

“One moment, my heart.”

Yusuf extricates himself from their shelter inside the blanket, leaving Nicky quite cold. He had not planned on letting Yusuf out of his grasp for the rest of the night, if he could help it, and he fails to see what could be so important. Yusuf returns a moment later, wiping his eyes on a blue kerchief that he passes to Nicky. He settles back in and procures a small box of his own.

Nicky feels his stomach do a flip.

“I’ve been saving it.” Yusuf provides with a wet laugh. “For when the time was right, I suppose.”

He opens it to see a simple metal band, all polished silver. Tilting the box slightly, he catches a small inscription.

_ My moon, my heart. _

A fresh wave of tears rises up and slides down his face. He allows Yusuf to slip the ring onto his finger, the finality of it like a quilted blanket resting on his shoulders. They are drawn together, pulling each other close and watching the sun slip below the horizon. They stay that way, nearly silent, with Yusuf reclining back against Nicky’s chest until the stars begin to make their appearance.

Over Yusuf’s heart, both of their hands are folded together. Neither one of them can stop staring at the matching rings that adorn their fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it!!! Thank you so, SO much for reading this absolute monster. If you would like to come scream at me, come scream at my [ tumblr ](https://pinesboi.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are VERY much appreciated. They give the brain worms food to keep me writing!!

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me at my [ tumblr ](https://pinesboi.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments/kudos are always appreciated!!!


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